


The Final Battle, Part 2

by closetcellist, Decoder13, DelusionsbyBonnie, The London-in-the-Air Archival Society (sakuuya)



Series: New Adventures of the London-in-the-Air Archival Society [7]
Category: Battle for London-in-the-Air
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-13 08:12:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14745152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/closetcellist/pseuds/closetcellist, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decoder13/pseuds/Decoder13, https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelusionsbyBonnie/pseuds/DelusionsbyBonnie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakuuya/pseuds/The%20London-in-the-Air%20Archival%20Society
Summary: Stories and visual aids from round 10 of the Polyvore battle group The New Adventures of London-in-the-Air. Primarily not my work, uploaded here for archival purposes.





	1. Foreward

This round of The New Adventures of London-in-the-Air started on April 16, 2018--which is to say,  _after_ the death of Polyvore. From this round forward, all NALITA rounds were conducted via email for the handful of remaining players. That's why the visual aids stop being Polyvore sets and start being a lot more ecclectic: They're now an optional component and allowable in whatever medium the player wants.


	2. Round Information / @sakuuya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @sakuuya, aka [sakuuya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakuuya). It was part of the set-up for this round.

Welcome to the final non-wrap-up round of NALITA, everybody! And thanks to all the players of both this game and MotRD for your responses to my PM earlier today. As you can see, I decided not to push this round back (as was the general consensus) but if the overlap between this round and MotRD round 6 turns out to be a problem, I am as always happy to extend it.

Anyway, his month, it’s all about your OC coming back from the brink of defeat to finally take down the plot’s main villains. I was thrilled last round with how thoroughly you all ruined your OCs’ lives, but as they say, it’s always darkest before the dawn.

At the start of the round, though, things are still looking pretty bleak. In addition to whatever mess your OC personally found themself in last time, the base on Epsilon-Iota and the infirmary on Omega have been destroyed, and the rebellion’s de facto leader, Helena Spencer-Curtis, was killed in the former attack. (For the full list of NPCs killed last round, see the graveyard: https://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=233126138) And government forces, emboldened by their success, are still doggedly hunting down the rest of the rebellion. It’s up to the OCs to turn the tide of the rebellion and save the city.

Example Set: Coming soon!

\-----

THE BIG BADS

This is a replacement for the usual NPC death section; once again, it’s changed a lot, so please read it thoroughly!

For this round, instead of killing off random NPCs, we’re going to focus on addressing the remaining main villains: Mayor Hazard, Lady Sterling, and General Scarborough. If you need a refresher, Scarborough (fc Richard Armitage) is in charge of rooting out the rebels, and stopping him means that the rebellion is no longer under attack; Sterling (fc Anna Friel) is the mastermind behind the government cyborg project, and she still possesses the cyborgs’ main control apparatus; and Hazard (fc Cillian Murphy) is in charge of the municipal government, and stopping him will allow a non-supervillainous government to be elected.

Since there are three of them and six of us (counting me), it wouldn’t be fair to let people decide their fates on a first-come, first-served basis. Instead, please comment on this set as soon as possible with which of the big bads you want your OC to stop, as well as whether your OC would prefer to see that villain killed or captured—though if your OC is ambivalent, you can say that too. It’ll be up to the players in each group to collectively decide what to do about their chosen villain. Because everybody’s responses restrict everybody else’s ability to do plotting, I’ll probably start poking people about this via PM by, oh, Friday? So be prepared for that. :P (Also, I definitely won’t have an example set up a week from today.)

OCS GOING AFTER CHAIRMAN HAZARD  
\- Kara Feurherz (@.fashionqueen76): Capture

OCS GOING AFTER LADY STERLING  
\- Dr. Jhandir (@sakuuya): Kill  
\- Rebecca Tyler (@.lunaofthemiste): TBD

OCS GOING AFTER GENERAL SCARBOROUGH  
\- Dr. Irving Suttler (@.closetcellist): Kill  
\- Andrew O'Rourke (@.delusionsbybonnie): Kill

I hope that all three of these guys will end up getting addressed, but one of them doesn’t, the anonymous rank-and-file of the rebellion are enough to fix their particular part of the plot. BUT without OC intervention, the big bad in question is neither killed nor brought to justice and instead just kind of vanishes into the night, to potentially cause trouble later. Keep that in mind if you’re unsure of who to go after and see that one of these folks isn’t getting any “love.”

If your group is really stuck for ideas, shoot me a PM. I have at least a broad idea of how all of these baddies could potentially go down, but I’d like to leave it up to y’all as much as possible. I can also mediate disputes of what to do about a given villain.

I didn’t include the usual death lists to avoid muddying the point of this section (and, indeed, this whole round). If you DO want to include the death of another group NPC in your set, shoot me a PM and we’ll talk! Barring extraordinary circumstances, this is the last round that will contain NPC deaths.

\-----

SET REQUIREMENTS  
[ ] 1+ pictures of your character  
[ ] 1+ pictures of the main villain your character is helping stop this round  
[ ] A color block  
[ ] A watch or clock  
[ ] A bird or feather

DESCRIPTION REQUIREMENTS  
[ ] How does your character recover from the bad spot they ended the previous round in?  
[ ] Write about your character helping take down one of the remaining big bads  
[ ] Include someone else’s OC or NPC (including group NPCs) in your story  
[ ] Who does your OC think should take over as interim mayor of LITA after Hazard's regime is deposed?  
[ ] Tag the mods @decoder13 and @sakuuya

 


	3. Andrew O'Rourke and Dr. Suttler / @delusionsbybonnie and @closetcellist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was co-written by Polyvore users @closetcellist (aka [closetcellist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/closetcellist)) and @delusionsbybonnie (aka [DelusionsByBonnie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelusionsByBonnie)). The visual aide was created by [DelusionsByBonnie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelusionsByBonnie).

Andrew blinked blearily. The morning light was streaming through a window in a much more cheerful and tidy way than it usually did, and… everything hurt. He mumbled a curse as memories of the previous night flooded back. He propped himself up on an elbow, wincing as he gently examined the dressing on his torso. Neat work, so far as he had learned from Doc. Dr Suttler was clearly a competent physician, despite Dr Jhandir’s personal dislike. Andrew should have known to take his opinion with a grain of salt.

What time was it, anyway? Suttler had been kind enough to provide a pillow, though he’d left Andrew on his dining table. Andrew supposed he couldn’t blame the man. He did have at least two inches and several pounds on the doctor, and Suttler’s medical training probably hadn’t included lugging large unconscious men from room to room without the aid of a gurney.

Andrew pushed himself into a sitting position, swearing as softly as he could manage. He didn’t know what time the doctor usually got up, but he didn’t want to repay the man’s hospitality by awakening him with a barrage of dockside language.

From Andrew’s side, a stream of loud, grating, repeated and expanded profanity came from the African Grey perched on the top of a chair nearby. Alcibiades bobbed at him a few times before fluttering across the room to a higher perch, and his profane cries brought Dr Suttler bustling into the room, looking rather ragged, though he gave Andrew as bright a smile as he could manage in the circumstances.

“Mr. O’Rourke, it’s good to see you awake,” Dr Suttler said, giving the man a quick once-over to make sure he didn’t look likely to immediately pass out again. “Don’t push yourself too hard, you have quite a few stitches now.”

“Thanks to you, doctor.” Andrew returned the smile as best he could. “Still feels better than it did last night. I think this might be the worst I've ever had.” He cast a sidelong look at the parrot. “That thing usually talk like that? Make a sailor blush. Damned impressive.”

He gingerly swung his legs over the edge of the table and lowered himself to the floor, keeping a cautious hand on the edge. He swayed but kept his feet, waving off the doctor's anxious hands.

“Ah,” Dr. Suttler rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. “Well, he really just picks up the worst things he hears. He enjoys being a terror.” He hovered for a moment before deciding Andrew just wasn’t going to let him help. “Come into the kitchen, you can eat and drink--I’m certain you could use the hydration.”

Dr Suttler led the way to the kitchen, where sat a small table with two chairs, and an incredible number of jars, on the counters, on the shelves, all carefully labelled and filled with powders and liquids and something in between. Once he stepped into the room, a scrabbling sound erupted, announcing the enthusiastic appearance of Mallow, who snuffled up to Andrew, gently butting his knee.

“Oh Lord, please. I’d kill for a good cuppa.” Andrew smiled, bending to ruffle the dog’s ears before wincing and collapsing into a chair. “Shouldn’t have done that.” He dangled his hand down by Mallow’s nose, idly petting the corgi’s head. “Friendly little lad. Got any other beasties here I should know about?” He glanced around the room, taking in the jars and their labels, none of which meant anything to him at first glance. It was a completely different atmosphere than Dr Jhandir’s parlor, sunnier, cluttered, and welcoming. Andrew liked it.

Dr Suttler filled a kettle and set it on the stove, looking over Andrew before grabbing several jars and creating some sort of mixture to put in the obviously well-used teapot. “It’s just the two of them at the moment,” he said, leaning against the counter as he waited for the water to boil. “That’s Mallow--she’s a sweetheart. I don’t know what I’d do without her. Alcibiades, the parrot you met, he’s a lot more…” he trailed off, trying to think of the right word to describe his, frankly, rather confrontational pet. “Self-directed,” he tried. “But they’re very good companions.”

He was quiet for a moment, the only sound the flame on the stove and Mallow’s happy snuffling as she bumped against Andrew’s hand for more pets. Finally, somewhat reluctantly, he asked, “Do you know...what happened yesterday? I suppose I should ask a bit differently--I don’t mean to suggest your memory would be affected by your injury, just, it seems likely a lot happened that I haven’t heard yet.”

Andrew shook his head. “After I… fought Lynch, I came to find Doc--Dr Jhandir. The place was already on fire and crawling with soldiers. Lucky none of ‘em noticed me. Think they said they weren’t finding as many bodies as they hoped, though.”

He buried his hand in Mallow’s neck ruff, silently agreeing with Suttler’s assessment of her. He’d never had a pet dog, but he’d had plenty of lonely nights in his own tiny apartment. Having another warm, living creature around seemed extraordinarily appealing just now.

Mallow rested her head on Andrew’s lap, panting happily at the attention, as the water boiled for the tea and Dr Suttler took another moment of quiet to brew it, bringing over the pot and two cups to the small table when it was ready. “I put some ginger in it--it should help with your healing, lessen the inflammation.”

He sipped the tea, enjoying the slight bite of it before he spoke again. “If--if we’re going to do anything, I think...it would have to be now.”

“Do something. About the government?” Andrew tried the tea cautiously. “Oh that's good! Right. Uh, what were you thinking? You're the doctor, but I'm afraid I won't be good for much fighting today.”

He took a generous drink of tea, scratching down the length of Mallow’s spine. “Got my knuckledusters in my pocket of course, but… oh, no, I've got Lynch’s gun too. Right. Don't suppose you've got any secret weapons hidden away, have you?”

“Of course, I wouldn’t want you to strain yourself and aggravate your injury,” Dr Suttler said, looking into his cup as though it might tell him what to do. “I don’t have weapons, per se, but I have, well, my medical kits. A scalpel is just a small knife, isn’t it?”

He sighed, deflating a little. “I suppose we could...try to find some of the others. I always used to fancy that one day I’d do something heroic…”

“Heroism ain’t all it’s cut out to be, doctor.” Andrew’s face was unusually grave. “You just do what you think is right, and that’s bloody hard enough.” He sipped at his tea and scratched the dog, whose hind leg jiggled enthusiastically. “Still, I don’t feel right about just… sitting around until somebody else does something. Where should we start?”

“I suppose we could try to find out who is left,” Dr Suttler said, though he didn’t look particularly convinced by this idea. “Or...well, we know where the government leadership lives. I don’t...have anything, outside of this. The Rebellion gave me a real purpose. I’m just not sure…” he screwed up his courage and hoped his struggle didn’t show on his face, which it almost certainly did, “I’m willing to do something drastic.”

Andrew thought of Liam’s face when he’d told his brother to leave. “Aye. I know how you feel. Right then, let’s do something about these bastards. I’m not letting you go anywhere by yourself. I’m sure you can take a man apart when he’s out cold, but not when he’s coming at you with a gun.”

He straightened, eliciting a tiny grumble of protest from Mallow. “I’ve got knuckledusters and a gun. You’ve got scalpels. If we could get a gun for you… ever used one?”

Dr Suttler shook his head, looking a bit embarrassed. “No, I was never very interested in learning. It seems tremendously silly now. I did wrestle, at university,” he added, in case that was at all helpful.

Andrew bit back a laugh. “No, that's not going to do you much good against trained soldiers. All right, I'll teach you that before we go. It's not so hard. Just point it at the man you want to kill and pull the trigger. Don't close your eyes and don't let the recoil scare you.”

He returned his hand to the insistent corgi and drained his teacup. “So then. Which man? Hazard or Scarborough? Hazard will be closely guarded right now, I think.”

“I think it would have to be Scarborough then,” Dr Suttler said, taking the phrase ‘man you want to kill’ and putting it away in the back of his mind so he didn’t have to think about it too much. It was past that time--the only way forward was through. “Perhaps they will think we’re too scattered to do anything now; they won’t be expecting an attack.”

“We'd be lucky.” Andrew grinned, but there was no joy in it. “So he'll probably be at either his army HQ or, worse for us, Hazard’s office. Maybe we can find a lad to knock over the head and threaten til he tells us. Or two lads, and we can steal their uniforms and just walk in, ey?”

“Right. That is, ah, rather classic,” Dr Suttler said, trying to hide his growing discomfort. He swallowed it down--sometimes the end had to justify the means. “Do you feel well enough to show me how to use a gun?”

“Oh aye. It’s in my coat.” Andrew pushed himself up, measuring the effort of each movement. “I do think this would be easier with a nip of morphine. Or a nip of anything, really. Once had me arm set with no anaesthetic but about a pint of hard liquor.”

He returned with the pistol, flipping the chamber open to display the gleaming ends of six bullets. He tipped them out onto the table and replaced the cylinder. “Pity we don’t have any more ammunition. Ah well. Here, doctor, you take it now. To shoot, pull back the hammer til it locks, then pull the trigger. You have to pull the hammer back each time. That’s what turns the cylinder and reloads it. Try it out. All it’s going to do is make a snap since I took out all the bullets.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have any morphine,” Dr Suttler said, looking incredibly apologetic. “Nearly all the non-holistic medical supplies were in the infirmary. But I’ll mix you something up before we leave that should at least help.” He held the gun delicately, pointing it away from both of them even though he knew and had just seen that it was not loaded. Even so, he took a deep breath before he pulled back the hammer and aimed at a bottle on the counter, just barely managing not to close his eyes before he pulled the trigger. All that happened was the snap, but he still flinched--though his hands stayed steady.

Andrew nodded. “That's right! You've got the idea. Now, when it's loaded, it's going to be much louder and have much more recoil. Don't let it snap back and hit you in the face, or they'll know for sure you don't know what you're doing. Just pretend you're confident, aye?”

Andrew eased himself back into the chair and groaned. “Whatever you've got, I'll take it. Not feeling too picky just now.”

“Confident. Right,” Dr Suttler said with a breath, before giving himself a little shake as Andrew groaned. “Don’t worry, I’ll make the next best thing,” he said, setting his gun on the table and going back over to his jars. After a little bit of muttering to himself, he pulled out two, and started some more water boiling. “It likely won’t taste very good,” he warned, as he started to apparently make a very strong coffee, before mixing in a very thick, black substance, like hardened molasses. Once it was ready, he offered it to Andrew. “It’s coffee and wild opium lettuce resin. It should take away the pain, without making you tired.”

Andrew reloaded the pistol as Suttler worked. “Don't think about it too much, doctor. It's not a thing any decent man should dwell on. You'll act without thinking when the time comes.” Or you'll freeze, poor bastard, he added silently, and prayed that Suttler would rise to the occasion.

Accepting the mug, he raised it to his lips, took a sip, and grimaced. “I liked the ginger tea better.” He blew gently on the dark surface, then tipped it all back in one breath. “Christ have mercy, doctor, that's stout!”

“I did warn you,” Dr Suttler pointed out. “It’s quite strong. But it seemed like you would need it. I don’t want any of my patients to be in pain.” He picked up the gun again, and it did feel different loaded, heavier, though that could have just been his imagination. “I suppose...once you feel the medicine working. Oh--”

He set the gun down again and hurried out of the kitchen into the dining room where Andrew had been laid out, grabbing a paper from a desk and scribbled out a quick note. “I’ll be right back,” he promised, before hurrying out of the apartment. He returned a minute later, sans paper. “Sorry, I just thought...I should make sure someone comes to get Mallow and Alcibiades if...I didn’t come back.”

“Of course. It's a good man who takes good care of his animals.” Andrew had pulled his jacket back on, glad the doctor hadn't been there to see the struggle. He slipped the knuckledusters on and off within his pockets, feeling the comforting weight of the weapons. “Are you a praying man, doctor? I think now would be the time.” He crossed himself and kissed the cold brass.

Dr Suttler nodded, closing his eyes for a moment as he said a quick prayer, hoping that someone was still listening. “All right. Let’s...let’s go.” He carefully tucked the gun into his belt, concealing it under the jacket he pulled on before he headed for the door, giving Mallow a pat goodbye and trying not to think about the fact that it could be the last time.

The city was still a confusion, though it was more subdued than it had been the day before. There was a tension in the air, or at least a tension in Dr Suttler, and they moved as quickly and quietly as they could, making their way to the army headquarters. The journey there was a blur of attempted stealth and narrow avoidances.

“You're favoring your right side. They'll notice you've got something under your coat,” Andrew mumbled. He wished passionately for another partner, or at least a less dangerous mission. But it was a bit late to be worrying about that now.

He took in the imposing edifice, a stern neoclassical building, with a frown. “They're not so alert as they should be. That should work in our favor. How are you at lying, doctor?”

“Good, I’m great at it,” Dr Suttler lied, straightening up and trying to look inconspicuous. He wasn’t a particularly conspicuous person overall, so that, at least, worked out. He took a breath and swallowed. “‘Go down into the valley and fight the dragon you were sent to fight,’” He murmured to himself quietly, before catching Andrew’s eye. “All right.”

Andrew nodded. “You sound too posh. Best let me do all the talking.”

He pulled his cap down and strode over to the back door, knocking briskly. “Here to look at the gas,” he announced to the soldier who answered it.

“We're not expecting any workmen,” the man replied suspiciously.

Andrew sighed. “Look, if I don't make sure it's not leaking, this whole place could go up. You wanna die like that? None of my business if you do...”

The soldier frowned. “Where's your tools? And who's this? He ain't no workman.”

“Sure he is.” While the soldier was distracted, staring at the doctor, Andrew swung his knuckledusters at the side of the man's head. He crumpled, and Andrew caught him, pulling him inside the door.

“Quick, doc, come on. Tie and gag him. Stick him in the closet here.” Andrew pulled the unconscious man's sidearm from its holster and tucked it into his waistband.

Dr Suttler gave himself a shake and moved into action, tugging off his own tie to gag the man, and finding something in the closet that worked well enough to tie the man’s arms and legs before he clumsily bundled him inside the closet. He was sweating by then, feeling out of breath, but the anxious energy that had been plaguing him the whole way there turned then into pure adrenaline and drive.

“Right,” he said, pushing his hair out of his face breathlessly. “If he’s here, Scarborough, he’d be...deep inside, wouldn’t he?”

“Probably, damn the luck. And this fellow is too scrawny for either of us to fit in his coat.” Andrew pushed the door shut and leaned against it. “So. Upstairs we go then? That looks like a servants’ staircase.”

He led the way up, easing a dark-paneled door open a crack. “Don’t see anyone there,” he breathed. “Do you know what he actually looks like? Not sure I do.”

“Ah, yes, I have seen pictures,” Dr Suttler whispered. “And seen him once in person. I’m sure I would recognize him. Do we go through?”

The building was overall quiet, certainly quieter than anyone would have expected, but it was possible--likely--that most of the army was spread throughout the city pressing on or cleaning up after the events of the day before.

Andrew nodded. “‘S quiet.” He stepped into the hallway, footsteps muffled by the lush carpet, then swayed. He grumbled a curse, steadying himself against the wall. “Think your… lettuce stuff is taking hold. Head feels a little fuzzy. That supposed to happen?”

“Ah, perhaps?” Dr Suttler said, quietly. “It does have sedative properties, though I was hoping the coffee would be enough to offset it.” He looked worried, glancing around them quickly and listening intently for any approaching noises. “Can you continue?”

“Have to, don't I? Too late now. Think I'll be all right though.”

Dr Suttler nodded, taking another look around before he lead the way quietly to the next door, holding his breath as he peeked inside, withdrawing his head quickly. “He’s in there,” he whispered almost soundlessly--Scarborough hadn’t seen him, but that was essentially a miracle.

Andrew nodded, pulling his pistol from under his coat. He flung himself through the doorway, gun trained on Scarborough’s head. “Not a sound or I blow your head off,” he grated, willing himself not to stumble against the wide map table. “Hands on the table.”

“How dare--” Scarborough began, but fell silent as Andrew’s pistol barrel twitched lazily. The general slowly lowered his hands onto the table, eyes locked on the gun. “What do you want?” he tried again, more quietly this time.

Dr Suttler stepped through, holding his own gun out, wishing he’d thought this through a bit further. What did they want, besides to get rid of him. “Tell us what the next attack against the Rebellion is going to be,” he tried, thinking that was at least something useful they could use if they ended up leaving with their lives.

“My God, you people are mad,” Scarborough said incredulously. “I could have a dozen soldiers in here in a heartbeat.”

“You’d be dead before they could get through the door,” Andrew replied roughly. “Answer the question.”

“Tonight, around eleven. The Sigma-Epsilon crossing. My men are particularly motivated, considering the trouble that wretched hovel on Omega gave them.” Scarborough had clearly decided that Suttler was in charge here, and directed his answer accordingly. “I’m finalizing the orders here, if you’d like to take a look at them.”

“I don’t need to see them,” Dr Suttler said. He’d come prepared to die and to kill, and though it might damn his soul he was ready for that too. He aimed his gun and pulled the trigger--only to result in a disappointing click, as he’d forgotten to pull back the hammer.

Scarborough exploded into action, diving beneath the table and emerging on the other side with his own gun drawn. Andrew swore, shoving Suttler to the side as the general fired. Shouts came from other parts of the building, followed by thudding feet. Andrew fired back, and Scarborough crumpled against the wall.

Andrew grabbed a handful of the doctor’s coat, dragging the man upright. “Run!”

“I’m sorry--I didn’t think--” Dr Suttler got out breathlessly, stumbling a bit as he moved with swiftness but not grace.

“Hush,” Andrew gasped as they staggered down the back staircase and out into the alley. “Tunnels.” He shoved his pistol back into his waistband and cast about wildly for the nearest entrance. “Where the hell--”

Dr Suttler was, by grace of God, at least somewhat familiar with the area. “That way,” he said, grabbing Andrew’s arm and pointing before taking off again with the other man in tow.

Andrew gritted his teeth against the renewed pain in his gut and followed, grateful that Suttler knew where he was going. They found the entrance and darted inside, slamming the door behind them. Andrew leaned against it, gasping. “Can't stop here,” he managed. “Got to keep going.”

He cast around in the dark for the maintenance lantern he knew must be somewhere, willing his eyes to adjust.

“We will,” Dr Suttler said, taking charge again a bit more competently now that he didn’t have a gun in his hands. He felt along the side of the tunnel until he found something, matches it turned out, which once lit gave them enough light to find the lantern itself. “We should get back to my apartment if we can. I’m sure you’ve pulled stitches.”

Andrew nodded mutely, leaning against the tunnel wall for a moment. He felt sick, the lettuce clouding his head while doing nothing for his wounds. The sound of running feet outside jarred him into action, and he wedged a nearby wrench into the door handle, praying that it would hold for long enough. He broke into a painful jog, trusting his sense of direction to get them back to at least the right platform.

When Andrew seemed to be having too much trouble, Dr Sutter offered his help, letting Andrew lean on him as much as he needed and could support. “It’s not much further,” he said a few times, without it having any effect at all on the distance between them and his apartment.

They walked through the tunnel for what felt like hours, and there was fresh blood on Andrew’s shirt when they finally made it back to Suttler’s apartment. Mallow bounced back and forth between them as Andrew collapsed into the nearest wooden chair, feeling just lucid enough to at least try to avoid bleeding on the doctor’s upholstery.

“Oh, no, come lay on my bed,” Dr Suttler said. “You need to be flat for me to redo your stitches, and then you should sleep.”

“Don’t want to take your bed,” Andrew managed, but at the doctor’s continued urging, he was persuaded. It didn’t hurt that he also felt like doing nothing more than sleeping for at least two weeks. Hell would keep until he felt better.

 


	4. Liz Maximoff / @multifandomgal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @multifandomgal.

It had been a few days, yet Elizabeth was still reeling from what she’d done. Sure, the other rebellion members had been surprisingly lenient with her, but she still felt awful, and had been avoiding going to the Lambda-Nu base where possible. In fact, most of Liz’s time since… since the ‘incident’, had been spent at home or in the shop, where she tried her very best to keep her mind off of her guilt, and it seemed to be working somewhat. Unfortunately, her plans to stay solo were soon scuppered, as a coded letter from the rebellion arrived with the next morning’s post:

> _ Dear Miss Maximoff, _
> 
> _ Please could you report to the Lambda-Nu base at the earliest opportunity. We have an urgent new assignment to discuss with you; one that could potentially put an end to our fight, for good. _

Liz wasn’t sure that she was the best choice for this all-important assignment, but she couldn’t just ignore the letter, so later that day, off she went to the base. Shortly afterwards, she discovered just how important her job would actually be: she was to assist Kara Feurherz in taking down Chairman Hazard, one of the rebellion’s most dangerous enemies. Although, as wonderful as it would be to finally be rid of Hazard, and to have a part in taking him down, Elizabeth still had a few minor reservations about the situation…

“Why me? I’m pretty sure there are lots of people better qualified for helping out than me…”

“Hmm, that may be true, but most of the other rebels are apparently dealing with ‘more important things’ right now. Plus, I hear you’re good with gadgets, so you can get us in.” Kara replied, rather abruptly. She and Liz had never really worked together before, so hopefully they would make a good team. “Alright, I’ll help you. What kind of gadgets will we be needing?”

***

After a quick discussion about strategy, and a once-over of the plan, Elizabeth (somewhat hesitantly) followed Kara out of the door. Before they could get very far, however, Kara stopped, and suddenly said “Oh, and you might want to bring a weapon of some sort too. Just in case things go wrong.”

Liz nodded, and gestured for Kara to follow her back to her workroom, where her crossbow was leaning against the desk, unused since the incident. She stared at it for a moment, unwanted memories briefly flooding back, before shaking her head, resolving herself, and picking it up. With that, and a few arrows taken from her desk drawer, the unlikely duo were off again. Hopefully without any last-minute stops this time; Liz didn’t want this to go on any longer than necessary.

***

“Right, I’ve been studying Hazard’s daily routine for a while now, so he’s almost certainly here by himself. All we need to do is get inside and subdue him!” Kara explained, seeming quite pleased with herself. They were outside the Hazard family home, trying not to look too conspicuous, as it was still mid-afternoon, so anyone could come around the corner and spot them if they weren’t careful. Liz still had some worries about how this mission might end, but remained in hope that Kara’s plan would work. It was also quite nice to be able to take her mind off Doland for once, and test out some of her recent gadget designs in the process.

Speaking of gadgets, it was apparently time to put one into action: the back door to the house was (unsurprisingly) locked, and neither of them could seem to pick it. Liz rummaged around in her bag for a moment, before pulling out a small, metallic device, which stuck to the wall next to the keyhole. The device whirred and clicked for a few seconds, whilst she and Kara looked on hopefully, then at last they heard the lock click open. “See. You were a good choice!” Kara said, with a smile, which Liz half-heartedly returned as they retrieved the gadget and stepped into the house. 

It was eerily quiet inside, with very few lights on, and only a ticking clock to be heard. Kara pointed to the nearby staircase, and Liz nodded before following, trying her best to stop her heels from clicking on the polished floor. At the top of the stairs, presumably outside Hazard’s office, stood two guards, probably armed. For a moment, panic crossed Elizabeth’s mind; she could have guessed that there would be  _ some _ security, but in the heat of the moment the thought hadn’t occurred to her. Kara, on the other hand, seemed fully prepared, and rolled a small metal ball across the floor towards the guards. Barely a moment later, a white vapour started streaming from the ball, and the guards fell asleep right where they were standing. Well, Liz hoped they were only asleep…

Kara pressed another button on the ball, being careful to cover her face, and the strange sleeping gas was slowly sucked back from the air. Liz couldn’t help but be impressed; it really was a clever device (probably one of Gina’s, actually… Liz really was going to miss her…). Unfortunately, though, she had no time to admire technology, as it was now time to properly put the plan into action. 

“So, you’re going to go in and distract him, and once his back is turned, I’ll take care of him.” Kara whispered, with a small smile at the last part. Liz wasn’t entirely sure what Kara was going to do, and was slightly concerned for both of their safeties, but with any luck, they should be able to get out unharmed. She carefully reached for her crossbow, which was strapped to her back, and picked out a regular arrow from her small selection. Then, after making sure Kara was out of sight, she burst through the door and shouted “It’s over, Hazard!” as confidently as possible. 

Hazard, who had been sitting at his desk, stood up slowly, an almost-smile on his face. “Ah, so the rebels have finally found me. Go ahead, then. Shoot. It will only create bad press about you all in tomorrow’s newspapers…”

Liz said nothing in reply, but instead glared at him and raised her bow. Her hands were starting to shake, but she tried not to let it show. Slowly, she began moving around the room, and just as planned, Hazard followed her movements, eventually ending up with his back to the doorway. “Well get on with it then! Shoot the city’s one remaining influential leader dead, and see how things turn—” 

The chairman had no time to finish his taunt, as he suddenly fell forwards onto the floor. Kara stood behind him wielding a large leather-bound book, which she must have taken from one of the shelves in the hallway. “Quickly, tie him up with something – I don’t know how long he’ll be out for!” She instructed, and Liz wasted no time in following through on the order. Another particularly interesting device she’d brought along was perfect for the situation: a box-like contraption covered in switches and lights. Gingerly, she held it over Hazard’s unconscious body, and flicked two of the switches. Metallic coils suddenly sprang from one end of the box and wrapped around Hazard, before attaching themselves to the box’s other end. “This should be stronger than just a rope, and it has a few extra settings if he wakes up and starts being difficult…” Liz trailed off, remembering that one of those settings involved electrifying the coils. She’d been steering clear of anything of that sort recently, and for good reason, so perhaps it was best not to tell Kara about it.

Kara simply nodded in reply, looking deep in thought. Liz looked at her inquisitively before saying “So, are we getting out of here then? It’s getting dark, so it will be best to get him back to base soon—”

“No, I have some things to do before we take him back. Could you wait outside and keep an eye on the guards for a few minutes?” Kara sounded calm, but Liz stared at her in mild horror. “Wha- What are you going to do? I thought we were bringing him back alive?”

“We are, I just want to… get some information first.” Kara now seemed a bit sheepish, as if she didn’t really want anyone to know about her plans, “I’m not trying to kill him. I don’t want that to happen again…”

Now Elizabeth felt sorry for Kara – she’d clearly been through a lot recently, and the two of them were probably going through some very similar things right now. If this was Kara’s way of dealing with it, then Liz had to support that. “Alright. I’ll wait out here. Try not to be too long though, we should aim to get back before nightfall.” She said, and Kara looked at her with a grateful expression in reply.

***

They arrived back at the nearest base just as the stars were beginning to come out. It had been a bit of a struggle getting Hazard to cooperate, despite the fact that he was still firmly tied up and had been bloodied up quite badly, but soon enough he was locked in one of Lambda-Nu’s various cells. Elizabeth had politely refused to help take Hazard to the base’s lower level, as she wasn’t quite ready to face it just yet, but Kara seemed to understand. The pair of them were congratulated for their successful endeavour, then Liz decided that she best be off home, before her father started to worry about her (she had been out quite a bit longer than expected, so hopefully he hadn’t had any trouble closing up the shop). 

With Hazard now taken care of, and apparently some of their other main adversaries too, it was starting to feel like the rebellion had finally succeeded in their ultimate goal. Tomorrow was sure to be a much brighter day for London-in-the-Air, and possibly for Liz too, she hoped. Although not quite over the pain and guilt of her reckless actions, today she had seen that she  _ could _ make a positive difference to the rebellion, and that there were others (like Kara), who had done some pretty terrible things in this fight too. Between her father and the rebellion, there was always going to be someone supporting Elizabeth, no matter what she’d done, or how well she was dealing with it.


	5. Rebecca Tyler, Dr. Jhandir, and Cordelia French / @lunaofthemiste, @sakuuya, and @decoder13, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was co-written by Polyvore users @lunaofthemiste, @sakuuya (aka [sakuuya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakuuya)) and @decoder13. The visual aides were created by @lunaofthemiste.
> 
> I don't typically split single stories into multiple parts for this archive, but this one is 17k words long, so two parts it is!

The smoke was getting heavier, making it harder to breathe, harder to think.  Flames flickered around the base, destroying everything that she had once held dear.  The thought of all of the hours she had spend there, all the memories going up in flames was sad, and it was a shame to think that it was likely nothing would be left when the fire took is course.  However, there wasn’t time to dwell on the past. It was getting harder for Rebecca to focus, but she refused to let the smoke inhalation render her senseless. She had to get out, because no one was going to save her.

No, Rebecca had to save herself.

She could hear shouting and fighting, likely from Tristan and Oscar.  Her current position prevented her from seeing the action, but she could guess what they were doing, especially after the actions of some of the soldiers.  She wasn’t sure about Oscar, but she realized that there was a higher chance that Tristan was not going to show any mercy—especially to the soldier who had killed his mother.  His shout after the gunshot had been cut off by fighting, but she was sure that he was plenty angry.

For now, Rebecca had to focus on getting herself out of the mess.  The debris from the destroyed desk had pinned her left leg down and the pain from trying to move the leg was immediate, as if she was struck by lightning.  Blood dripped onto her white blouse, and she briefly mused that she would have to get the blouse washed, or replaced. The thought, so trivial, almost distracted Rebecca from the task at had, and would have succeeded if she had not immediately begun coughing.

“Bloody smoke,” she muttered, deciding that escaping the burning base was more important than whatever injury her leg had.  With a firm yank, she pulled her leg from the debris, a cry of pain escaping from her lips. Rebecca couldn’t tell how injured her leg was, but she sincerely hoped nothing was broken.  After all, she had to be able to make it out of the base somehow.

She struggled to stand, almost using the wall for balance, then thinking twice.  Now that she had a better view, it was clear the structure was starting to fail, and would likely be crashing down any minute.  It was of utmost importance for Rebecca to escape, lest she be caught in the destruction.

As she headed for the exit, she made sure to grab a smaller piece of the debris, just in case.  Her gun was nowhere to be found, so she had to have something, just in case. There were only a handful of soldiers left, the rest either gone or unconscious on the floor.  The attack hadn’t been big, which Rebecca was grateful for, but it was still enough to make a difference. However—

**CRACK**

The sound of wood splintering was enough to make Rebecca lose her train of thought.  The commotion around her stopped—just for a second—to take in what was about to happen.  It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the base was collapsing, and likely taking them with it.

Rebecca made a dash for the door, feeling slightly ridiculous but not caring one bit about it.  A shot was fired, but it missed her—barely. She ran out the door, followed closely by Oscar. Another crack soon followed, and Rebecca started to panic.

“Where is he?!” She asked Oscar, hoping nothing terrible had happened.  

Oscar looked behind him, realizing that he wasn’t followed by Tristan.  He muttered a curse, told Rebecca to “Stay put” and ran back into the base.  She couldn’t hear much of what was happening, but was relieved when Oscar dragged Tristan out of the base minutes later.

“I can’t leave her there!” Tristan snapped at Oscar, pushing the other man off of him.  He started to head back into the base, only to be stopped by the roof collapsing, completely blocking the entrance.  The flames increased, completely overtaking the base.

Everything was gone.

“Tristan?” Rebecca said softly, looking over at him with great concern.  She knew there was no way she could know what he was dealing with, but she was unsure of what he would do next.

Tristan pushed past Rebecca, walking at a brisk pace.  “We need to put an end to this, now.” He said coldly, not even looking to see if anyone was following him.

“Put an end to this? Who exactly are you planning on stopping?” Rebecca asked, matching his pace despite the small pains in her leg.

“Anyone from their side.  We need to end this as soon as we can or more people are going to die.  We have to stop this today.” 

Oscar frowned.  “We’re with you.” He said, after some hesitation.  “But we need to rest and figure out who we’re going after.” 

“That’s easy.” Tristan answered.  “Lady Sterling holds the highest threat to us as of now.  She’s easy enough to take care of, we could go there now.”

“Without a plan?” Oscar asked.  

“I don’t want to wait.” 

“That wasn’t the question.” Oscar grabbed Tristan’s arm, and they stopped walking.  “You know I’m with you, but we can’t go in there with no weapons and injuries. Rebecca’s bleeding from the head, for crying out loud.” 

Rebecca bit her lip.  “It's not bleeding anymore,” she started, then hesitated after a pointed glance from Oscar, “but it would be beneficial for a rest and new weapons.  Lady Sterling isn’t a barbarian, she’s likely well-defended. We will go as soon as we can.” 

Tristan looked conflicted, but ultimately resigned.  “Fine. A day, tops. Then we take her down.” He said, starting to walk again.

They had reached the base on Lambda-Nu crossing, and Rebecca couldn’t be happier to see it.  It was a last refuge, of sorts, especially since it was far too risky to go back to the Curtis home.  Rebecca figured that they were desperate, which matched how they looked. Tristan had a few scrapes and bruises, parts of his clothes burned.  Oscar’s wounds were less noticeable, but he was visibly tired. Rebecca wasn’t sure if she was better or worse off, with a small cut along her hairline (that had consequently dripped blood on her blouse and face) and a larger gash on her left leg.  All in all, it was clear they needed a rest.

After checking that it was all clear, Tristan opened the door and let the trio inside.  Once they were all in, he frowned, taking in the injuries of Rebecca and Oscar. 

“We’ll take a quick rest, then we'll go after Sterling.” 

Dr. Jhandir was sitting at a table in the base’s front room, just staring at his hands.   Tristan’s voice broke his reverie; he startled and stood.

“Mr. Curtis? Miss Tyler? What happened to you?” The doctor rounded the table to get a better view of  their wounds. After a moment, he waved them further inside, adding, “You’d best let me take a look at you, assuming they have any manner of usable supplies here.”

Tristan nodded.  “Whatever you do, make it quick.  Look at Rebecca first, hopefully they have some sort of weapon we can use in this base.” He said, walking further into the base.

Rebecca hesitated, knowing that she should say something but her warnings would likely go ignored.  She glanced over at Oscar, with a look that he immediately understood. “I’ll try to slow him down.” He said, begrudgingly heading further into the base.

“I’m terribly sorry about Tristan.  He’s...we’re all still very shaken up.” Rebecca attempted to explain to Dr. Jhandir.  “There was an attack at our base, not everyone made it out.” 

Dr. Jhandir mulled that information over as he led Rebecca to what passed for the main base’s infirmary and dug through what were, in his opinion, its woefully-disorganized medical supplies.  Once he found what he was looking for, he motioned Rebecca over to a chair and began to sterilize his chosen equipment.

“When you say that not everyone made it out of your base, do you mean someone was captured or killed? And what happened to the base itself? This is just a local anesthetic,” he continued, holding up a hypodermic needle and syringe to account for the abrupt subject change.  That cut on your leg needs stitches, and for that I’ll need to numb it.”

Rebecca followed Dr. Jhandir, sitting down in the chair, nodding at his explanation of the syringe.  It was odd to think that six months ago, the idea of even needing stitches would have almost been laughable.  But here she was, in a rebellion base, with cuts and bloodstains, being helped by a doctor she barely knew. 

“No, no one was captured.” Rebecca shook her head.  “We heard the news about your base earlier today, and assumed the worst and that an attack would be very likely.  Our odds were already dismal, but they improved because Tristan’s mother showed up. When they attacked…” She looked down.  “There was an explosion, I got hit by it, and missed a lot of what went down. Tristan or Oscar probably knows better than I, but...they shot Mrs.  Curtis. By the time I got out of the rubble the base was already on the verge of collapsing, someone had set a fire,” she explained. “Tristan wanted to go back for her but the roof had collapsed and the flames were too high and dangerous.”

Just as Rebecca finished her last sentence, a tired-looking woman with a blank expression and a halo of uncharacteristically disheveled dark hair came into view in the doorway of the base’s small infirmary.  It was unclear how much she’d heard of the preceding conversation, at least if you didn’t know her well. Anyone who did knew that the only time Captain Cordelia French’s face betrayed no emotion at all was when she wished she currently didn’t have emotions to show.

When her eyes fell upon Dr. Jhandir, they widened ever so slightly.  Her mind would need to take another few moments to process what seeing him here, seeing him  _ alive _ , could mean.  She’d process that while she did what she’d come here to do.

Cordelia had barely been at the base for half an hour at most and hadn’t been anywhere near the infirmary yet.  It had been all she could do to get herself and what was left of her crew to safety and make sure everyone got where they needed to be.  She’d had no time yet to check on anyone who’d been injured. But when Tristan had stumbled into the heart of the base, stunned and tired, and given some account of what happened, it became clear that one of the things that most concerned him that anyone could still do anything about was how his fellow base leader Rebecca was holding up.  

Of course there was more.  Of course Helena was dead. Everyone was probably dead.  Time to move on from that, because if Cordelia couldn’t, she could be of no help to the living.

Tristan hadn’t asked her to check on Rebecca, exactly, but it was readily apparent that he wouldn’t be adverse to someone bringing him back any kind of assessment of how she was doing.  It was something Cordelia could do even without a ship, without help, hell, even without being passably alright herself. It was always best to do something.

Rather than ask the good (Cordelia half-chuckled within her own mind at the adjective) doctor how things were, she aimed her attention and her words towards the young woman she recognized as Rebecca.  She shot a half glare at Anil, not really  _ for  _ anything so much as for all sorts of things there might never be time to fully discuss.  But then her eyes were on Rebecca.

“I heard what happened from Tristan,” Cordelia said, hoping to let Rebecca know that there was no need to explain again for her benefit.  She knew firsthand how it felt to have the world fall down on you and then have to parrot back the whole experience again and again. “I thought I might take a moment to check on you, make sure you’ll be okay.”  

Rebecca looked up at the woman as she entered, taking a moment to recognize her as Captain Cordelia French, and wondered what exactly had happened.  It seemed like the whole of the rebellion, or what was left of it, was stumbling into the base all at once, each member with some story of how something, or someone, was destroyed.  All Rebecca could hope was that the losses taken wouldn’t be for nothing.

“Thank you, Captain French, for your concern.  I...I think I’ll be okay. Just a cut on the leg to fix…” Rebecca trailed off, realizing in that split second that the base was  _ gone _ .  All the memories made there, anything she hadn’t moved to Tristan’s house—gone.  It was going to take some getting used to, she decided, but she didn’t have time to dwell on the fact.  “I’m more worried about Tristan, to be honest, with everything that’s happened, I don’t want him to do something rash.”  

Cordelia hummed in quiet agreement.  It was good to hear that Rebecca was alright.  Any good news at all right now was something to be cheered by, or at least that’s what she told herself.  She was glad both for Tristan’s sake and for everyone else’s that the young woman was doing as well as she could be, though she personally didn’t know Rebecca Tyler particularly well.  In fact, most of what she’d heard about Rebecca had come from Helena, and that was because it had come to Helena from Tristan in gradually increasing quantities as of recently. 

Now was not a good time for that.

“It’s good to hear that you’ll be alright,” Cordelia said with a small smile.  She succeeded in forcing it not to look especially sad, though not in forcing it to make it look particularly cheerful.  “And you needn’t worry about Tristant for the moment. He’s found his way to the center of the base. Most everyone”— _ who’s left _ , she added in her mind but not out loud—“is regrouping there.  And no one here is particularly keen on leaving anybody else entirely alone at the moment.”

Rebecca nodded.  “That...that is good.  They’ll be able to slow him down for a bit, plus Oscar will be there as well.” She said, already planning things out in her head.  Tristan would only be delayed for so long, especially if he was set on going after Lady Sterling immediately. For now, it would be best to take advantage of the time she had before they set off.  

She was grateful, though, for the conversation with Cordelia, despite not knowing her very well.  Most of what she knew came from Oscar, with some help from Tristan, when he described some of his past Resistance dealings prior to his death, on a night that seemed so long ago.  The woman standing in front of her, though, was different, more real than some of the stories made her out to be. “I do thank you for your concern about me, but I must ask, are you okay?”

Cordelia bit the inside of her bottom lip almost imperceptibly without letting the edges of that smile she’d worked so hard to muster slip down.  

She was genuinely, if vaguely, touched by the fact that someone who’d just survived what she half suspected and half knew Rebecca had was bothering to ask her about her own wellbeing, too.  But Cordelia had been asked if she was okay so many times recently that the one response she had at the ready sounded like an unusually high-quality gramophone recording. 

“I’m as well as I can be,” Cordelia reassured, almost automatically but with her smile still on.  Then, a bit less automatically, she added, “Thank you. Truly.”

And then something Rebecca had said at least several seconds ago came belatedly slamming to the forefront of Cordelia’s brain along with such a rush of faint connections and barely articulated semi-theories that all she could manage to ask was, “Pardon me, did you say Tristan is with  _ Oscar _ ?”

Rebecca frowned ever so slightly at Cordelia’s first response, but didn’t press it.  She knew that whatever had happened to Cordelia would eventually reveal itself, and she did no good by continuing to press her for details.  After all, it was what Rebecca would have wanted if she was in the same position. She then nodded at the question, answering it almost absent-mindedly.  “Yes, Oscar went with Tristan to make sure he didn’t do something completely ridiculous.” Rebecca answered, then frowned. For a moment, she had forgotten that most of the Resistance assumed Oscar was still dead.

She glanced at Dr. Jhandir cautiously, before turning her attention back to Cordelia.  “When we raided the government labs, Oscar was there,” she spoke softly, “because they made him into a cyborg.  There’s metal where the bullet wounds were.” She explained, the image of Oscar’s dead body, lying in a pool of blood, coming to the front of her mind.  “He….he was able to remember us, so we took him with us. Neither Tristan nor I wanted to leave him there, cyborg or not. That is probably why Tristan wants so badly to go after Lady Sterling.” Rebecca mused, assuming that Tristan had mentioned his intentions to some extent to Cordelia.

Dr. Jhandir cleared his throat meaningfully.  “I understand there’s much to discuss, but I need Miss Tyler to focus on me for the moment if I’m to treat her properly.  Miss Tyler, you’ll feel a little sting.”

He waited until he was satisfied that Rebecca wouldn’t be suddenly buoyed away by conversation, then injected her injured leg with his anesthetic.  While he waited for it to take hold, he turned his attention to the cut along her hairline. There was a lot of blood, but it was all dry now, and forehead injuries did tend to bleed so.  Absent any other trauma, it was nothing to be alarmed about. He cleaned the area first with a damp cloth, then got out another cloth that he’d soaked in a solution of carbolic acid.

“This will hurt as well,” the doctor warned, then applied the antiseptic cloth before Rebecca had a chance to protest.  While holding it there, he said, “However Curtis feels, it’s my professional opinion that we none of us are ready to go storm Lady Sterling’s.  Everyone here is wounded, exhausted, or both”—and that wasn’t even mentioning the strangely angry look Cordelia had given him; who knew what  _ that  _ was about—“and Lady Sterling’s no fool.  If we’re to move against her, we need to be in fighting shape.”

Rebecca winced at the antiseptic cloth on her forehead, but did her best not to move too much.  “I do agree that, at this moment, no one is in fighting shape to go after anyone, but we cannot wait too long,” she spoke calmly.  “Although it is unlikely that Lady Sterling will make herself easy to find, and the longer we wait, the chance that we lose any possible leads increases.  We shouldn’t wait longer than a day or two.” Rebecca explained, though her suggestion was biased. She knew that it was unlikely Tristan would want to wait that long, and the longer they waited, the chance increased that he might do something extremely risky.

Cordelia knew enough to be quiet while Anil was working.  She did not want to distract anybody at a moment when it could just make things worse.  And besides, she now had plenty of information it was probably best for her to think out before she gave words to her reaction.

She supposed it wasn’t a surprise that Celine hadn’t given the name of the one mechanical man that had been taken from the government laboratories.  Cordelia had always been careful to omit names from any communication she sent to her siblings about the rebellion. And she wrote and spoke about it only figuratively anyway.  And also often in code. So Celine wouldn’t have any way of knowing that Cordelia had mentioned Oscar multiple times before—both in conjunction with Tristan and the Spencers, and as someone she’d worked with before.  She’d never mentioned him by his actual name. And then hearing his name mentioned right next to Tristan’s was so natural that it had taken her a moment to register that it should surprise her.

Now it was taking a few moments for her to decide if the news counted as pleasant, catastrophic, or simply unsettling.  A mix, perhaps? There were a lot of details to sort out. A lot of implications to work through. Though she could hardly let that need for thought lead to paralysis.

And then there was the fact that yes, she’d heard Tristan mention Charlotte, then Rebecca mention her, and now Anil.  It was almost funny. There was a time back at boarding school when Cordelia would have been overjoyed to learn that one day she’d stumble into a discussion about apprehending and punishing Lottie Hazard for her crimes.  And that was long before all the “raising an undead mechanical army” nastiness. 

Instead, Cordelia waited until what looked like a good moment before saying, “One or two days sounds right, as long as we’re quiet.  It’s unlikely she’ll leave the city if she thinks the smoke is clearing over a field she thinks her side has won, or at least still holds the majority of.”  

She paused before adding, “When the time comes, though, you should know that I’m in.  I know a thing or two about Lottie Hazard, and it might help to have that knowledge and one more level head going into this.”

Dr. Jhandir nodded as he finished dressing Rebecca’s head wound.  He kept his eyes on his work as he began to clean the cut on her leg, starting as before with water.

He kept his eyes on his work, not daring to look at Cordelia as he said, “Of course you can come.  I… promised Miss Gunn, before she blew up my infirmary, that I’d, quote, ‘Give Charlotte hell,’ and I think she’d approve of your participation.” Uncomfortable with even that level of sentiment, he added, “Miss Tyler, tell me if you feel anything worse than pressure on your leg.  The anesthetic should have done its work by now, but please let me know if something’s amiss.”

Rebecca nodded.  “Of course,” she spoke softly, realizing that it was going to be more than just herself Tristan, and Oscar on the hunt for Charlotte.  She figured that was for the best, after all, there were only two real fighters out of their trio. Hopefully, the extra additions to the group would be able to persuade Tristan to slow down, even for a day or two.  

As if on cue, Tristan, followed by Oscar walked back into the room, both a little more armed than Rebecca last saw them.  Tristan looked over at Rebecca, frowning at bandage on her forehead and the work still being done on her leg. “I see that we still have to wait.” He said, assessing the situation.  Oscar sighed audibly in the background, obviously annoyed at how Tristan was acting.

“That we do,” Dr. Jhandir said crossly, annoyed at the interruption as he began to sew up Rebecca’s leg, “unless you’d prefer Miss Tyler’s wounds to reopen or become infected.  And she’ll need to keep off this leg for at least a couple days to stop the stitches tearing. A mad rush over to Lady Sterling’s is simply out of the question.”

Dr. Jhandir didn’t look up at Tristan as he spoke.  Of course, he had to keep close focus on his work, but even if he had been doing something less pressing than suturing a wound, the felt the younger man’s desire to rush off unprepared was absurd.

Tristan opened his mouth to argue with the doctor, but Rebecca interrupted him.  “Just a day or two, Tristan. That way, we'll have some time to prepare for the attack.” She explained softly, trying not to plead too much with Tristan.  The fact that this would barely give her leg enough time to heal didn’t bother her; she was more worried about Tristan doing something stupid. Besides, she was never much of a fighter, so she could hope that she would avoid most of the action.

Oscar nodded at Rebecca’s statement, and Tristan sighed.  “Fine, a few days. Enough for Rebecca to rest.” He agreed reluctantly.

Cordelia had held back on speaking from the moment Tristan and Oscar entered the room.  Better to be quiet than to sound like the one idiot in the room who was not up to date on who was alive, who was dead, and who was neither.  There was a lot to sort through later. That was all she would allow herself to think on the matter for now. These were things to be sorted through later.  Though she certainly wouldn’t mind if she could make later come a bit sooner, before the facade cracked and she looked like someone who’d probably lost everyone except for the people she’d long since accepted as dead.

“Speaking of giving Rebecca time to rest,” Cordelia finally said, turning to Tristan, “I don’t think you’ll have to just sit here twiddling your thumbs while you wait.  A little bird told me that you might be needed back in the command room for now. I’ll be there right behind you.”

Then she looked to Oscar.  Simply ignoring him did not feel right.  “You too, Oscar.” She but the inside of her lip and smiled somewhat convincingly.  “It’s good to have you back.”

Tristan nodded, though he was still focused more on Rebecca.  Noticing this, Rebecca shook her head. “I’ll be fine,” she said, answering Tristan’s unasked question.  Tristan nodded back, giving Rebecca one last half-smile before he left the room.

“It’s good to be back, Captain.” Oscar replied, returning Cordelia’s small smile.  “I hope to get caught up quickly.” He added, deciding on not discussing his current condition.

Cordelia nodded.  “We hope to get you caught up quickly.  We need every good man we have right now,” she said.  Though, to be perfectly honest, would be quite a lot of catching up to do later, on all sides.  Lots and lots of catching up. Dear lord, this was getting as strange and convoluted as a penny dreadful.

Speaking of penny dreadfuls—Cordelia turned back to Dr. J.  “Who better to deliver some well-deserved hell, hmm?”

Dr. Jhandir, who had just finished stitching and bandaging Rebecca’s leg, smiled wanly, which was about all he could manage at the moment.  Besides, coupled with that look Cordelia had given him earlier, he wasn’t at all sure she meant it as a compliment.

What he said, though, was, “Quite.  Now… Oscar, was it? Please help Miss Tyler somewhere she can rest, and Miss Tyler, do try and stay off your leg.  And if you’ll excuse me, I could use some rest as well. It’s been a trying day for all of us.”

The doctor stood without waiting for a response and nodded politely to the group as he limped out of the room.  Right now, he wanted nothing more than to sleep, though it was probably too much to hope that when he awoke, the destruction of his home would prove to be naught but a bad dream.

***

Dr. Jhandir read over Kern’s description of Lady Sterling’s control apparatus for what had to have been the hundredth time.  Kern hadn’t seen fit to include any kind of diagram, and while Dr. Jhandir was good at visualizing how things interconnected, he was no engineer (something that Kern, in fact, had made sure to remind him on more than one occasion during his time with the Science Division) and this was all highly technical.  He scrubbed his hands over his face. It was imperative that he understand in every particular the documents he’d taken from the laboratory under Gilded Hall. Once Cordelia, Curtis, and all the rest found the control apparatus,  _ someone _ had to understand the thing well enough to disable it without blowing up the whole platform.

He glanced over his shoulder at his reconstructed portable galvanic prod, sitting nearly-finished in a corner of his cell-like room.  Working on it, a mechanism he actually understood, would be soothing. But the importance of reconstructing the prod before venturing out to a location that could be swarming with mechanicals was one of the few things he had to hold up as a reason to delay leaving the base, so, Penelope-like, he’d been undoing his own progress and holding back from completing it.  Thus far, he’d managed to convince everyone to wait two days past the two they’d initially agreed upon.

Dr. Jhandir hadn’t left the base in all that time, despite the inadequacy of his hastily-packed wardrobe, the difficulty of acquiring parts for his prod, and the bland, disgusting food.  He wasn’t sure he’d ever be ready to leave. The others couldn’t possibly understand—they’d lost friends and workspaces in the past few days, true enough, but Dr. Jhandir’s entire life had gone up in flames.  He wasn’t even sure where’d he go, once he ceased his temporary habitation at this base.

But it didn’t do to dwell on such things; that only made the prospect of staying in his tiny, sunless room nearly as unbearable as venturing out of it.  He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair (which was already a mess; he hadn’t had time to pack any Macassar oil) and turned his attention back to Kern’s notes.

Tristan knocked on the door, more of a courtesy than asking for permission to enter.  He studied the room, noticing no real difference than the last time he dropped by to ask when the doctor would be finished.  It had been days now, and Tristan was going a bit stir-crazy, despite Rebecca and Oscar’s company. Part of it, he knew, was on him—he had turned down a chance to go back home, asking Oscar to retrieve fresh clothes (and a journal for Rebecca) instead.  He wasn’t ready to face that yet, the house after his mother’s death, and figured he wouldn’t be until the rebellion had succeeded.

Which was why the doctor’s hesitance to do anything was getting annoying.  He had confessed, to Rebecca, that he thought about just throwing the doctor over his shoulder and dragging him to Lady Sterling’s.  It had been four days, he certainly had enough time. “Have you made any progress?” Tristan asked, trying his best to sound less annoyed than he felt.

Dr. Jhandir felt his mouth twist into a scowl as he scooted his chair around to face Tristan.  Of  _ course _ Tristan was back to check up on him.  “I think so,” he said, holding up the sheaf of notes and deliberately not looking at the prod.  “I’m more confident I’ll be able to shut down Lady Sterling’s machine without anything catastrophic happening, once we find it.  But the more time I have to study up, the better our chances. Surely you have preparations you could be seeing to as well”— _ instead of bothering me _ , he did not add.

“I’ve been prepared, since I assumed we would have gone two days ago.” Tristan frowned, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorway.  There wasn’t too much he  _ could _ do, which was frustrating.  Yes, he could always discuss strategy with Rebecca and Captain French, but there was only so much of that he could take.  The continued discussion of the attack felt like wasted time, since most of their strategy would be based on what Lady Sterling had at her home.  There wasn’t much left to do; the weapons were prepared, and all of his minor injuries were almost completely healed. The only missing piece was Dr. Jhandir and his knowledge, and it was becoming increasingly clear to Tristan that if he didn’t drag the doctor with him, they might never go.  

He looked down, eyeing the galvanic prod, his frown increasing.  “You say you’ve made progress, but your prod seems like it’s been barely touched.” He observed, his accusations remaining unsaid.

“Ah, it would, to a layperson,” Dr. Jhandir said with a shrug, endeavoring to imply by his tone and manner that Tristan was a fool for even asking the question.  “The outer casing and the prod itself were relatively simple to make. It’s the generator inside the casing that takes time and care to piece together, and that progress can’t be easily discerned by someone who doesn’t know what he’s looking for.”

That was true enough, in its way.  He  _ hadn’t _ been making progress, of course, but he doubted Tristan would be able to tell the difference even if the younger man looked inside the casing—particularly since Dr. Jhandir was canny enough with his non-progress that the unfinished generator  _ looked _ a little different every day, as he assembled and disassembled its various components.

“Now, if you’d be so good as to leave me to my work,” Dr. Jhandir continued.  It was not a question. He started to scoot his chair back around, to signal that this conversation had reached its end.

Tristan scowled as soon as the doctor turned his back to him.  It annoyed him how complacent Dr. Jhandir was with taking his time, not at all worried about the other battles going on in the world outside the base.  “Would you prefer to stay here? Safe in the base, while the rest of us take on real danger?” He asked, his annoyance and anger present in his voice.

“Don’t be absurd.  I intend to honor Miss Gunn’s final request.  I’m just… not ready to leave yet,” Dr. Jhandir said, his worry and uncertainty breaking through for a moment.  He rallied, though, and added snidely, “Of course, if you’d prefer to confront Lady Sterling  _ without  _ having a safe way to disable her mechanical men, I certainly can’t stop you.”

“If you wish to come along, you’d better hurry it up,” Tristan all but threatened.  “Lady Sterling poses a real threat, and the longer we wait, the more likely it is she makes a move that we cannot take on.  This is a time-sensitive mission, we cannot wait for you forever.” He retorted, glaring at the doctor. After a moment, he pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing internally.  It was very clear that the doctor wasn’t going to go, at least not today. “How much longer do you think you’ll need?” Tristan asked, trying so hard to be polite, but sounding quite snide instead.

“A day, perhaps two” Dr. Jhandir replied, once again endeavoring to sound like the matter was settled.  “If you absolutely  _ must _ bother someone during that time, I suggest talking to Cordelia before you interrupt me again.  That would certainly make my preparations go more smoothly. And, ah, actually, if you could hand me my prod, please…”

That was an olive branch, meant for Tristan’s benefit.  Dr. Jhandir certainly had no intention of finishing the thing today.  But perhaps if he acted as though he was going to, it would get Tristan out of his hair.

Tristan sighed, picking up the galvanic prod and handing it over to Dr. Jhandir.  Before he relinquished control, he narrowed his eyes. “Try to hurry, Doctor. People are dying out there, and there will only be more casualties the longer you stall,” he threatened, letting go of the prod and walking out of the room without another word.  It certainly wasn’t the best way he could have handled it, but he had to be blunt at this point. They couldn’t wait that much longer, lest Lady Sterling leave the city.  
***

Meanwhile, Rebecca had reached a writer’s block.  She was doing her best to plan for the upcoming attack, but there were so many different outcomes for her to explore.  The original idea she had was even rough—she had no real idea how Lady Sterling would act or react to anything the group did.  Tristan breathing down her neck didn’t help either, she was doing her best to talk him out of a fight with Dr. Jhandir. Oscar was doing his best to help, but he was going to support Tristan no matter what, not talk him down.

So Rebecca sat in one of the side rooms of the base, pen in hand and a few scribbles in her notebook.  She scowled, hoping a new idea would come soon enough.

Cordelia was just about done with her own preparations for the mission when she headed over to the side room where Oscar had said Rebecca probably was.  Their route and their transportation to the mansion were secured. A friend of a friend had been able to provide some rather excellent maps of many of the not-so-secret parts of the mansion.  Celine was in, perhaps against anyone’s better judgment, but also perhaps for the best; what mattered was that she wanted to come and that Cordelia was not going to deny her sister that choice.  And, finally, Cordelia had a whole list of potentially useful information about Lottie Hazzard, now Charlotte Sterling, gathered from her own experience and from various letters to old boarding school classmates and society friends in the past.  

With Anil clearly starting to stall and Tristan and Oscar seemingly focusing mostly on breaking him out of that, Cordelia figured it’d be a good time for their little team’s two strategists of sorts to sit down and talk business.

So she knocked thrice on the door frame before stepping into view within the open door.  “Rebecca,” she began, trying to get Rebecca’s attention right away. She knew that could take a moment when a person was writing.  “Hopefully I’m not interrupting anything. I hear you’ve been working on planning out the mission, and I think I might have some more information that could be useful, if you have a moment.  Would now be a good time?”

Rebecca looked up, almost not recognizing Cordelia for a moment before her brain put two and two together.  “Oh, of course!” She answered, moving some of her books to the side so Cordelia could sit at the table. “I’ve been trying to plan, the least I can do with all of this time we have.  I figured that if we know what to expect it might make the whole operation easier, but I know very little about Lady Sterling.” She shrugged. “Anything you know would be a tremendous help, after all, two heads are better than one.”

Cordelia sat down by the table and listened as Rebecca explained where she was in her planning.  “I was figuring this might be where I could help,” Cordelia replied. She paused a moment, her expression thoughtful.  It was clear she was considering exactly how much she ought to explain just now. “To put a very long story very short, Lady Sterling was a classmate and one time roommate of mine back in boarding school.”   She chuckled a little, realizing that from the outside this must sound like a ridiculous coincidence. “We haven’t spoken in over a decade. Actually, there’s a chance she thinks I’m dead. But I do think I might know enough to fill in some gaps in your planning if you have them.”

Rebecca frowned, listening as she tapped her pen on the table.  “You were...roommates?” She said cautiously, realizing that the Captain had several surprises up her sleeve.  “What was she like back then, did she show any interests in...cyborgs, science experiments, anything like that?” She asked.

Cordelia nodded slowly.  “We were. We weren’t exactly  _ friends _ , mind you, but you learn more than a few things from just sharing space with a person for a couple of years,” she said.  “I

“Lottie Hazard was extremely… proper, in her way,” Cordelia continued, though it sounded like she still wasn’t entirely sure of her own word choice.  “At least by the textbook definition. Followed the letter of rules of etiquette exactly, but not their spirit, if that makes any sense. Started out with an intense interest in anatomy.  When we were very young, she wanted to be a surgeon like her uncle. Then her parents made it very clear that was not going to happen, so she took up music and art to please them and the study of mechanics to spite them.  Apparently she ended up quietly going to the farthest extreme in both of the fields she was explicitly told not to pursue.”

“Spite is a fairly good motivator.” Rebecca mused.  “She must have wanted to prove them wrong, show that she could excel in mechanics and anatomy.” She decided, thinking of how this would impact what she already had written.  “I’m trying to figure out how she might react to certain actions, who she might recognize out of the lot of us. If we can anticipate her reactions, we might be able to disable her without her death.” She explained, hesitating.

“I know it’s an unpopular opinion, but I don’t want her death.  She might be a...horrible person but she has children and they don’t deserve to be orphaned.  If we can prevent more death, we should aim to.” Rebecca said cautiously.

Cordelia contemplated Rebecca’s words for a moment, searching for anything she remembered about Charlotte that could be of particular use.  “Well,” Cordelia began, “I suspect she’ll recognize Dr. Jhandir and I. That said, she has every reason to think that both of us are several years deceased.  We might have some element of surprise there, though I’m not sure whether she’s already gotten some word of the truth. I wish I could say she’d be happy to see one or the other of us and that perhaps we could use that, but I doubt she would be.”  She glanced over at the door, then back to Rebecca. “And, from all I know of Charlotte, she probably had a personal hand in most projects she saw as her brainchildren or her responsibility. So there’s likely some chance she’d recognize Oscar, but I don’t know how great.”

Cordelia racked her brain for any other information that could be of particular use.  “She’s left-handed. Hates sharp ringing noises, but probably not enough for that to really bother her once she’s suspecting it.  Never was one for fighting with her fists, though that could have changed. Still, it seems more likely that she’d have learned to use some kind of firearm, maybe one she made.  Likes to talk quite a bit. There’s a good chance someone could get her monologuing rather intently about some subject she cares enough about.”

She shook her head.  “Honestly, I’m not sure whether I want her to die.  But I know I don’t want to see her killed without a chance to speak a word in her own defense,” Cordelia said.  

Rebecca nodded in agreement.  “Despite everything she’s done, she should still deserve some sort of trial.” She decided.  “Perhaps we could distract her somehow, get her monologuing long enough for Jhandir to disable the controls, or destroy them safely.  If we’re giving him this much time, he’d better know how to do at least that.

“If there is some sort of fight...perhaps you or Tristan would be willing?” Rebecca winced.  “I’m the furthest thing from a fighter, and Oscar still isn’t sure whether he wants to go or not.”

“Distraction, in my experience, could work with her,” Cordelia agreed.  “Ask her lots of questions. Better yet, we could try to annoy her,” she suggested, chuckling slightly.  “If she thinks she’s being doubted or flattered, she could probably spend a fairly contented day or two threatening you pompously until she feels her reputation is adequately secured.”

“I can’t speak for Tristan,” Cordelia continued, “though I have a suspicion he won’t say no to a fight.  As for myself, I’m prepared to fight if I have to. I’d prefer to avoid fighting, but certainly not because I’m not good at it.”  Cordelia was aware she might have sounded a bit proud there, but why shouldn’t she be? She had a decade of experience under her belt and was more than equipped to bash in a face or two if absolutely necessary.  She  _ was  _ proud.

Rebecca half-smiled.  “I have a bit of experience with that, I’m sure I could keep her talking if I need to.” She assured Cordelia, thinking of Octavia and those god awful brunches they had together.  “And if both you and Tristan are willing to fight, we should be able to take on whatever she throws at us—emphasis on should.” She decided, tapping her pen on the table.

“I’m quite confident that anyone who’s survived to adulthood in polite London society is well-equipped to weaponize a conversation,” Cordelia replied, grinning.  “And I’m also fairly confident we have the people we need to get in, find Charlotte and anything else she doesn’t want us to find, and get out with whatever we need in tow.  I believe we have a strong fighting chance, pun only slightly intended.” 

“Then it’s settled.” Rebecca smiled.  “If anything, we can make a few minor adjustments and hope that the doctor can shut the machine down before anything goes wrong.” She shrugged.  “If he hurries up, of course.”

***

After two more days, Tristan had had enough.  Rebecca could see it clear as day on his face, and she knew that no amount of talking down was going to stop him, if she wanted to.  At this point, it had been almost a week since the destruction of their base and just sitting in the base was accomplishing nothing, despite the ‘progress’ the doctor had claimed to make.  Rebecca hadn’t gone to check on him herself, but she knew that both Dr. Jhandir and Tristan were equally frustrated with each other.

To be fair, they had waited, taken time to let plans fall into place and for everyone to heal.  However, the time for action was going to pass the group if they waited any longer, a fact that Rebecca had acknowledged when she woke up next to Tristan that morning.  They then geared up, along with Oscar, to be ready to go as soon as the doctor said yes or no.

“I don’t bloody care anymore, he’s clearly stalling.” Tristan complained, while stocking up on weapons.

“Do you think he just doesn’t want to go?” Rebecca asked, waiting by the door of the weapons room.

Tristan shook his head.  “I gave him an out. He still wants to go, but at this rate we’ll never leave.” He explained, handing a holster and a pistol to Rebecca, which she took cautiously.  “I’m not letting you go in defenseless.” 

“I know.  I just hope I won’t have to use it.” Rebecca said, gazing down at the pistol in her hand.

“Just in case.” Tristan reassured her, giving her a kiss on the cheek.  “Let’s go see if Jhandir’s changed his tune.” 

After sending Oscar to get Cordelia and Celine, Tristan and Rebecca arrived at the doctor’s ‘room.’  They exchanged glances, and after Tristan gathered his thoughts, he knocked on the open door. “Get up Jhandir, we’re leaving.” He said, in what Rebecca decided was the least diplomatic thing Tristan could have told the doctor.

Dr. Jhandir was just about to sit down at his makeshift desk, and he scowled when he heard the knock—half at Tristan and half at himself for forgetting to close the door when he came in.  He turned to face the interlopers, steadying himself with his chair.

“No,  _ we’re _ not,” he said simply.  “Don’t be foolish.”

“If it were up to you, we’d never leave.” Tristan scoffed.  “Either get your things together or we’re leaving without you.”

Rebecca frowned, crossing her arMs. “It has been a week, we really can’t wait much longer.” She added, softer than Tristan.

Dr. Jhandir ignored Tristan in favor of addressing Rebecca, whom he considered a softer target.  Tristan had proved entirely pigheaded; it was barely worth trying to argue with him any more. 

“Miss Tyler,” the doctor said with a sigh, trying and mostly failing to sound gentle, “I thought you, at least, had the sense you were born with.  Preparedness is more crucial than time. If we run off with no thought but speed, Lady Sterling will surely be able to outthink us. No, it’s not sensible to leave yet.”

“Lady Sterling has a good chance of outhinking us whether we leave now, tomorrow, or yesterday,” Cordelia said, striding into the room.  Oscar had given her enough of an idea of what he expected this conversation to look like that Cordelia had insisted on coming here first while Celine finished preparing a few things.  Based on what she’d been able to gather of her sister’s… fondness for the Doctor, she didn’t want Celine being here to enable Anil’s hyper-caution. Of course Cordelia saw the good sense of taking time to prepare.  But this had gone on long enough two days ago. “If we wait until we’re sure we’ll succeed, Anil, we’ll never leave at all. Though I’m starting to wonder if that’s what you want.”

Dr. Jhandir let out a frustrated hiss of breath at the way the world was massing against him today.  “Don’t be absurd,” he said peevishly. “Lady Sterling and her mechanicals are a menace, and I want to help put an end to them.  I’ve never said otherwise.”

He didn’t know how to explain the yawning feeling of dread that had opened up in him since the destruction of his home, how harried and hunted he felt without a place he really belonged.  And he certainly wasn’t going to try and articulate it in front of Tristan Curtis.

“I don’t doubt your desire to help, but we’ve given you time to prepare, two deadlines that we’ve extended.” Rebecca frowned.  “Regardless of what you are telling us, your  _ actions _ indicate that you would rather wait until the chances that we win are absolutely certain.  They will never be—this is the rebellion, built on chances and risks that we are  _ all _ willing to take.  Besides, the longer we wait here, the chance that this base is found only increases.” She reasoned.  

Oscar nodded.  “The longer we wait, the chance that she activates the controls only increases as well.  I’d rather take her down before...before something terrible happens.” He added, avoiding eye contact after his realization.

The doctor bristled, barely even hearing Oscar in his umbrage at Rebecca’s comments.  He drew himself up to his full height—which was nothing compared to Tristan, Oscar, or even Cordelia—and said, “Are you suggesting that I haven’t taken risks for our cause? I sacrificed everything for the rebellion,  _ twice _ , and I surely don’t need you, Miss Tyler, to lecture me about the dangers we’re facing.  If I choose to be cautious, it’s because I understand the consequences better than most.”

Rebecca narrowed her eyes.  “Don’t twist my words against me.” She started to say something else, but hesitated, glancing at Tristan.  “Unfortunately, you are outnumbered at this point, and I simply don’t have the time or patience to sit here and argue with you.  This is your last chance; come with us, or stay.”

“Anil,” Cordelia said, with a steady expression but a somewhat softer voice than before, “everyone in this room understands the consequences better than most.  Far be it from me to say you have no reason to be cautious, or hurt, or dare I say it scared. We all have every reason. But how long can we possibly stretch this out? You know as well as I do that this kind of stagnation is not what any of us wants for the rest of their life.  So yes, I’m with Rebecca. We’re leaving. You can come with us, or you can stay here, and either way we’ll understand why. The choice is entirely yours. But your choice no longer has any bearing on what the rest of us are about to do.” 

“ _ Fine _ ,” Dr. Jhandir ground out, throwing his hands up in defeat.  He could take Curtis’ sniping at him, and Miss Tyler’s attempts at reason, but the idea that Cordelia would  _ let _ him stay behind, as a favor, out of  _ pity _ , was intolerable.

Besides, unlike with the others, he fully believed she’d carry out her threat to leave without him.

“I need an hour to put the finishing touches on my prod,” the doctor continued, still seething.  “If I’m not ready by then, you can leave without me, for what good it’ll do you.”

Tristan was about to say something, but Rebecca quickly interjected before him.  “An hour is fine,” she agreed, glancing at Tristan to agree as well.

He sighed.  “Fine,” he spoke softly, walking away.

Rebecca nodded as he walked to away.  “Thank you,” she added, before leaving to go follow Tristan.  Oscar trailed behind as well, having no desire to be anywhere near the prod.

Cordelia lingered in the room a moment after the others.  “I’ll go tell Celine to get ready,” Cordelia said, though admittedly she’d already done so before she came to this little meaning.  She stared blankly at Anil for a second before smiling enigmatically. “I think she’ll be glad to know you’ll be coming, too. Good luck finishing up your prod.”  With that, she turned on her heel and left the room.


	6. Rebecca Tyler, Dr. Jhandir, and Cordelia French / @lunaofthemiste, @sakuuya, and @decoder13, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was co-written by Polyvore users @lunaofthemiste, @sakuuya (aka [sakuuya) and @decoder13. The visual aide was created by @lunaofthemiste.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakuuya)

The journey to Lady Sterling’s house on Alpha was largely uneventful: the closer one got to the beginning of the alphabet, the fewer soldiers were about to harass passers-by, and everyone in the little party at least knew how to act like they belonged on the upper platforMs. Still, they went in through the servants’ entrance, because it was out of view of the street.  Locked, too, but it forced open easily enough.

Dr. Jhandir held his breath as he entered what turned out to be the kitchen, but it was empty—unusually so, he thought, for a house like this.  Then again, Sir Clinton was dead, and perhaps his wife was staying elsewhere for the time being. No, that was probably too much to hope for, since he had to assume that the cyborg controls would be too large to be easily moved, and that Charlotte would stay near them.

At any rate, the lack of servants meant that there was no one to raise an alarm, but it also cut off a potential source of information, though Dr. Jhandir considered it unlikely that the domestic staff would know where their mistress kept her most secret projects.  And besides… he glanced over at Celine, who caught him looking and gave him a bright smile. The girl was probably a little too, ah, _enthusiastic_ to be allowed to participate in an interrogation.

Celine wasn’t the one who needed the closest watching, though.  As far as Dr. Jhandir could tell, Oscar was still in full control of his facilities, but the doctor nonetheless resolved not to turn his back on the mechanical man.

Rebecca glanced around the kitchen, looking for clues, or at least something that might give away the location of the projects.  The empty kitchen was almost ominous, but slightly reminiscent of her own home—the one she abandoned. Still, dwelling on the past wouldn’t help her now.  To her right stood Oscar, who seemed just as nervous as she was. He had insisted on coming, but he knew the risks, which was why he wasn’t carrying a gun, only a set of knives.  

On her left was Tristan, who seemed antsy to cut to the chase.  After all, he had been waiting a while for the doctor to finally get ready, but the time had let his rage simmer down.  He glanced around with a sharp eye, frowning. “Does anyone have any ideas?” He asked the group.

“Well, it won’t be down here,” Dr. Jhandir asserted.  “I can’t imagine Lady Sterling hiding her life’s work below-stairs where the domestics might get at it.”

The doctor adjusted the portable galvanic prod on his back as he walked over to the interior door, limping slightly.  He motioned the rest of the group to be quiet, then put his hand on the handle.

He whispered, “I’m going to open this in three… two… one…” And he did, pulling it open slowly and smoothly, not to mention in such a way so that he was behind it, well out of the line of sight of anyone who might be lurking on the other side.

The door opened, revealing a hallway that divided into two, with one half turning into a staircase going upwards, while the other half continued on into darkness.  Rebecca frowned, peering forward. “If I were Lady Sterling, having anyone other than myself be able to get into my lab would be awful, so I would want to isolate it.”

“So you’re saying it’s down the hallway?” Oscar asked, frowning.

Rebecca shook her head.  “These houses are old, and if the staff is new, Lady Sterling could have isolated one of the servant’s passages so no one working here would know about it.  She wouldn’t want to walk down here every time she needed the lab, so the entrance to the lab would have to be upstairs, where she could easily access it without anyone noticing.” She reasoned.  

“I defer to your expertise, Miss Tyler,” Dr. Jhandir said as he came out from behind the kitchen door.  He let it rest against the galvanic prod on his back, holding it open for the others in what he hoped was a clear gesture that there was no way he was going up those steps first.  Then he turned to Oscar and asked, “And how are you feeling? Any trouble?”

“Ever the gentleman,” Rebecca muttered, as she walked through the doorway first, Tristan close behind her.  She figured it made _some_ sort of sense—if there were any servants, she could probably say that she was hiding from the rebellion.  If there were soldiers, then Tristan would be by her side, just in case.

Oscar shook his head.  “I’m fine.” He answered, eyeing the galvanic prod nervously.  

Dr. Jhandir waited until Oscar, Cordelia, and Celine had all passed through the door as well before leaving the kitchen himself, closing the door gingerly behind him.  Bringing up the rear posed _some_ risk—particularly since he had no idea what might be lurking in that dark, descending staircase—but it allowed him to keep an eye on his compatriots, and that was crucial.

Rebecca opened the door at the top of the stairs with caution, since she had no idea what would be waiting for them.  She was surprised, but pleased, that there was just an empty corridor, with walls covered in paintings and a few doors on each side.  Tristan, who had been expecting a fight, relaxed slightly next to her, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. She looked over at him with a half-smile, and he returned the gesture.  As grim as the situation was, she was happy he was by her side.

“We have to split up, look around for the entrance,” Rebecca decided, her voice soft in a whisper.  “It could be anywhere, but it is more likely to be on this floor. Closer to the basement, after all.” She explained, looking around.  “There’s probably a clue somewhere…”

“Fair enough.  Charlotte was always fascinated by the concept of breadcrumb trails,” Cordelia agreed, eyes scanning the walls.  “And she always tended to assume that people would prove dumber than expected. If she’s been working with other people who’ve come to the house at any point, I would bet a significant thumb that she made sure there were some clear landmarks for them to navigate by.”

Celine let out a short, quiet laugh before biting down on her own tongue.  “So she’d build landmarks into her house to make sure the brightest scientific minds in the city would end up in the _correct_ diabolical laboratory and not the spare diabolical laboratory,” she said, as if to explain why it struck her as funny.  She glanced up to the paintings on the walls. “At least she has a passable taste in art.”

Cordelia wasn’t sure if she agreed with that, though probably that was because she wasn’t the artist.  Charlotte had always had a fondness for vaguely unsettling twists on floral motifs. That went all the way back to boarding school.  Wreaths and garlands formed into shapes that looked almost like words but not quite, gardens shaped vaguely like human organs, vines wrapped around what looked uncomfortably similar to collapsed skeletal remains, flowers with eye-like centers that appeared to follow you as you moved—Lottie Hazard’s dainty, faded rose notebooks were full of them.  They weren’t particularly good as drawings, which was probably what kept them from being too terribly unsettling back then.

But now Charlotte was rich as sin and an evil genius scientist to boot, so of course she’d commissioned someone to make those sorts of images actually look good.  And these paintings were, accordingly, quite unsettling. No wonder Celine liked them. They were dainty and grotesque and absolutely everywhere in this hall, it seemed.  As sprawling and abundant as they were in Charlotte’s old notebooks. Like a giant roadmap of—

Wait a moment.

Taking in a sharp breath, Cordelia leaned towards her younger sister and, in a voice just loud enough for everyone still nearby to hear, said, “The paintings.  I think our breadcrumbs might just be in the paintings. Look for anything that seems…” She searched for a suitable word. “Directional. Anything that looks maplike, or like a dead person pointing at something.”

Without a word, Celine snapped her eyes back up to the paintings.  

Rebecca looked back at the paintings, starting to look for the hidden clues.  The paintings were certainly odd, but that seemingly was the point. It was as if they were intentionally off-putting—especially the eyes that followed Rebecca as she continued to look.

“What do you make of this?” Tristan asked Rebecca softly as he looked at the painting next to her.

“If I knew exactly what I was looking for, I’d probably have better luck.” Rebecca responded.  “I’ve noticed a few things, but none of them seem directional.” She sighed.

As Dr. Jhandir studied one of the paintings near the door they’d come in through (keeping the rest of the group in front of him, as usual) he reminded himself for what had to be the hundredth time to study art.  He considered himself educated and cultured, but he was totally at sea as to what he might be looking for in the painting. It probably didn’t matter, presently—if there was something to be found in these paintings, he was confident Celine would find it—but he felt that he owed it to the girl to be at least moderately conversant in her field, and right now… Well, he just kept staring at the painting in front of him, trying to look as though he knew what he was about.

Celine stood still, staring, for a long enough that Cordelia considered asking her if she was alright.  But then she took a few steps back with her eyes trained on the opposite wall, and her eyes lit up That Look.

A smirk crept across Celine’s face.  “I think we have a guide,” she said. With that, she was off striding towards the end of the hall, not even checking to see if anyone else was actively following her in the wake of her completely unexplained epiphany.

Rebecca turned just in time to notice Celine walk down the hall, obviously having more luck than she did.  She followed the other girl, with Tristan and Oscar close behind her. “Did you find something?” Rebecca asked Celine.

Celine paused momentarily and glanced over her shoulder at Rebecca.  For a moment, she had that eager, self-satisfied look on her face that suggested she might be on the cusp of some long-winded explanation.  But, instead, she just nodded and simply said, “All the eyes make a larger picture if you view them as points and connect the dots.” She turned back to the hallway ahead and kept walking.  “And it was pointing this way.”

Cordelia speed-walked to catch up with her sister just before she reached the end of the passage and turned a corner.  Celine, alone, surrounded by deeply disturbing art and dangerous scientific tools and experiments, was probably a thought that delighted Celine.  However, it was also a thought that worried Cordelia half-sick (she wasn’t sure for whom she was worried there—perhaps everyone?), so that was not about to happen.

Dr. Jhandir saw Cordelia speed up and hurried after her, struck by similar concerns about Celine, though his sprung from a slightly different place.

Just a few steps down into the next hall, Celine stopped dead in her tracks.  It was so abrupt that Cordelia almost walked right past her.

“This is the place,” Celine said, pointing to a painting or a deranged geranium that didn’t look particularly different from any of the other delightful artworks lining the halls.

Cordelia stared at the painting for a moment.  After some consideration, she nodded slightly. “I’m not sure if we need to push on it at some spot, pull it back or to a side, flip it over, or remove it entirely, but this is clearly not a door in its present state, so I’m going to assume we need to do _something_ to this painting before any such entryway will become apparent.”

“Here, let me have a look,” Dr. Jhandir said.

He ran his hand over the picture’s frame with a frown, searching for some kind of hidden button or switch and wishing that he’d thought to bring gloves—not that he owned any gloves any more.  The frame looked the same as all the others around all the other paintings that lined the hallway, gilded and with plenty of decorative elements that _could_ be hiding a secret, though none of them seemed to.  He tried prising the whole thing off the wall, but it was stuck fast, much moreso than if it had been merely hung there.  That itself might be a clue, if he had thought to check whether any of the others were similarly fastened.

Despite exhausting the other possibilities, Dr. Jhandir hesitated and glanced over at Celine before he put his hand on the painting itself.  Even he knew what a faux pas that was. But there was nothing else for it, so he took a deep breath and began to run his fingertips along the paint, starting at the upper left corner and meticulously moving across the painting.  He might not know anything about art, but his hands had a good sense for the miniscule differences in tissue that could signal the presence of an infection or injury, and paint wasn’t that much different, when one got right down to it.

The button, when he found it in one of the painting’s “eyes,” was barely raised, barely texturally distinct from the paint surrounding it, but it was enough.  Dr. Jhandir pressed it, then backed away hurriedly as the section of the wall the painting was affixed to receded, revealing a passageway behind it.

Celine grinned, eyes wide as those of a pleasantly surprised child on Christmas morning, as the passage came into view.  “I was so hoping it’d be like this,” she said.

Cordelia stepped cautiously up towards the passageway, stepping past Anil.  She knew him well enough to suppose that simply pressing that button was already more than his preferred daily share of adventurousness.  She wasn’t going to leave it to him to actually head down the passage. Then they’d be standing here all day.

Instead, Cordelia peered into the secret corridor ahead.  It was indeed dimly lit, and with flickering electric bulbs, no less.  No one would need to light a torch to venture into the dark unknown tunnel, then.  At the end was a door, which could be bad or good. It might be locked, but at least it meant that anyone who might be inside might not have seen or heard their approach yet.

“I’d say that Tristan or I should go first,” Cordelia suggested, turning back to the group, “and the other can take up the rear.” She paused, glancing over at Oscar.  Everyone had their worries about him here, she was sure, and if there was some kind of control panel in here, well. If they were indeed in the right place, she suspected no one would be risking more than Oscar would be by continuing forward.  “Oscar, it is entirely up to you whether you want to continue from here. You’ve done a lot to get us here, and we could certainly use a guard standing out here if you don’t feel that you can safely go on.”

Oscar hesitated, then steeled his resolve.  “No,” he asserted, “I’ll continue. I owe the rebellion this much.” He decided.  “Besides, we have no idea how the control panel could affect me. There might be the same risk of...anything up here as it is down there.”

Rebecca bit her lip but didn’t say anything.  She wasn’t sure about Oscar, but if he felt he was going to be fine, it was his decision.  Tristan exchanged a glance with Rebecca, shrugging, and joined Cordelia at the front. “We’d better get a move on, then.” He suggested to the rest of the group.

Dr. Jhandir didn’t try to dissuade Oscar—this was neither the time nor place for an argument about the likely implications of Lady Sterling’s control apparatus—but he did unhook his galvanic prod from where it hung on its pack.  If anyone asked, he’d say it was in case Charlotte had mechanical men guarding her secret laboratory.

Cordelia watched Anil unhook the prod with a blank expression.  She fancied that she didn’t have to ask what he was doing or why he was doing it.  Celine had told her plenty enough about what that thing was for. Maybe, under other circumstances, she’d have said something.

Instead, Cordelia approached the door cautiously.  Someone was going to have to touch the door eventually to see if it’d open, and that someone sure as hell wasn’t going to be Anil.  Biting her bottom lip, Cordelia reached one hand out toward what appeared to be the handle of the door.

Nothing happened when her hand made contact with it.  That was a good start. Then she twisted the knob ever so slightly.  It moved and didn’t seem to catch. She twisted it further. Yes, it was unlocked.

Either the security to get here was enough, or someone **wanted** them to be able to get in.  Or someone had forgotten to lock it.   _Or someone was already inside and hadn’t thought to lock the door behind them._

Cordelia turned back to the group.  “For better or worse,” she said quietly, “it appears to already be unlocked.  Either this is very good luck, or someone is expecting visitors.”

Tristan frowned.  “With our luck, it’s probably the latter.” He said quietly.  “At least we don’t have to worry about picking the lock.” He added, readying his weapon.  

“Fair enough,” Cordelia replied, bracing herself.  Not expecting something to happen the moment that door opened would be foolish.  But never opening the door would be worse.

Slowly, quietly, she pulled the door back.  

The room beyond was large, rectangular, and windowless, lit instead by altogether warmer and better-maintained incandescent lights than those that illuminated the hallway leading to it.  Much of the space was occupied by two long, empty, bronze-colored experiment tables and several hulking pieces of equipment, their details hidden under dust sheets. The hiss and clack of a generator somewhere was just audible.  

What walls weren’t hidden by bookshelves bearing big, serious-looking volumes or curio cabinets full of more delicate examples of Charlotte’s handiwork were covered with an intricate lattice of brass-and-gold machinery, pipes and gears and components of inscrutable purpose.  The machinery moved like a living thing—and indeed, portions of it had been sculpted to look unnervingly like gilt human organs. It was impossible to tell at a glance how much of it was decorative.

The corner of the room farthest from the door was taken up by a Persian rug, atop which sat a big mahogany desk.  Lady Charlotte Sterling was seated behind the desk in a high-backed leather chair. She was writing something, but she set her pen down as the door opened and looked up, not looking at all perturbed by the interruption.

“Welcome,” Charlotte said, smiling.  “Finally. It took you a little longer than I expected.  Did you ever consider that I might have ways of knowing the very minute someone sets foot in my house?”  She paused, though not long enough to give anyone a chance to actually answer. “Never mind. I know at least one of you did.”  She glanced over at Dr. Jhandir. “You think of absolutely everything, don’t you? I didn’t actually know you were alive until last Tuesday, Doctor, so you certainly deserve some credit for that.  And I suppose I can almost understand. Don’t think I don’t know what it’s like to have to break down any door before you’re allowed to enter it. But, you know, I would have gladly offered you the chance the work in here without having to bust in with a band of armed hooligans if you’d just asked nicely.  ”   
  
As she spoke, Charlotte slowly, almost cautiously folded up the sheet she’d just been writing on.  The paper was just out of the intruders’ sights behind all the elegant knickknacks covering her desk, and she creased it so lightly that it barely made a sound.  The whole while she talked, she never once looked down to the paper. She kept her eyes fixed intently on the group. Particularly on the weapons aimed at her. What excellent motivators.   
  
“And you”, she continued, shifting her attention to Cordelia as she finished folding up the paper.  “I really should have expected you a little more, Faye. Always the one running around playing pirates and thieves and hiding in trees when people were angry with you.”  She paused again, ostensibly dramatically. Then she forced a chuckle to cover up the sound of her opening a drawer of her desk and slipping the paper inside. “Though you did do a very good job of being dead.  I know I enjoyed it. And I think you’ll find this funny: the first thing I thought when your doppelgänger friend”—she motioned with a tilt of her chin to Celine—“walked in was that Beck had really gone on and done the one thing I explicitly told him not to do as a private project.  Because I could tell that some fool had brought something of mine to this party. Honestly, that would have been more fitting for the both of you. But then I saw you, and then I saw him.”   
  
In the span of five seconds, her attention snapped to Oscar, her right hand tapped her desk drawer closed, she shot up from her chair, and her left hand drew what looked to be some kind of extremely modified firearm from a holster hidden among the folds of her skirt.  The barrel of the gun was aimed squarely at Rebecca. “Oscar Sherry, rebel operative closely associated with Tristan Curtis, bodyguard to the Honorable Rebecca Tyler. Subject aged 27 at time of death.”   
  
She chuckled again, this time quite genuinely.  “Don’t look surprised. I memorize all my patients’ files.  All the names, all the faces. Any particular physical conditions or abnormalities.  Any particularly significant persons who might go digging into what exactly happened to poor little Oscar.”   She grinned over at Rebecca and Tristan. “It’s just good practice.”   
  
“And do you know what else is good practice?” Charlotte added.  “This.”   
  
Charlotte’s right hand slammed down hard on what appeared to be a small gilded statues of a human skull surrounded by flowers.  The statue receded down into the surface of the desk as some of the machinery behind her roared to life and a high-pitched buzzing sound began to echo throughout the lab.

Rebecca winced at the sound, glancing over at Oscar, who was standing partially in front of her.  He had brought up his hands to his head, trying terribly hard to block out the signal, but it was tough to fight something in such close range.  Suddenly, in one smooth gesture, he grabbed a knife from his belt and lunged for Rebecca. Tristan, who had better reflexes than Rebecca by a long shot, managed to shove her out of the way before the knife did any real damage.

“Oscar, please,” Tristan all but pleaded, but it was no use.  Oscar’s eyes weren’t focusing, it was as if he didn’t recognize his best friend right in front of him, instead lunging at him with his knife.

Rebecca fell backwards, watching the scene unfold before her.  She wasn’t sure if Lady Sterling’s weapon was still aimed on her, but she hoped it was, in order to give the others a better chance.  “Shut it down.” She hissed, hoping the others knew she meant the apparatus and not Oscar.

Dr. Jhandir had been poised to run since Charlotte first said his name, and at Rebecca’s word, his coiled tension nearly made him spring forward to shut down Oscar with his galvanic prod.  Luckily, the rational part of his brain kicked in enough to realize that Rebecca likely wouldn’t refer to her dead friend as _it_ .  If Oscar tried to attack _him_ , though, the mechanical man was going to get electrocuted, regardless of anyone else’s feelings on the matter.  Besides, the doctor hadn’t wanted to bring Oscar along in the first place, precisely because something like this might happen.  Now was not the time to say _I told you so_ , but if they all survived, that time would come.

Instead of springing forward, he padded carefully backward, trying to take in as much of the room as possible as his eyes searched for anything that looked familiar from Kern’s notes.  No wonder he’d had so much trouble picturing the spatial relationships between the components of the control device; he hadn’t been expecting it to be in the shape of an entire bloody room.  The desk statue was a precious touch, very in keeping with what he’d heard about Lady Sterling from Cordelia, but there was no way it was the sum total of the controls. There had to be a more sophisticated instrument panel somewhere, but damned if the doctor could tell where.

It would be easier, of course, if he was able to get up close to any of the mechanisms, but he feared that if he strayed to far from the group, Lady Sterling would shoot him, and who knew what that gun of hers was capable of.

Rebecca swallowed, looking around.  She had to get Lady Sterling distracted, in order to hopefully give Dr. Jhandir enough time to disable the bloody apparatus.  Suddenly, a realization hit her—she was to be the distraction.

She really hoped she wasn’t about to get shot.

Carefully standing up, she started to walk in the opposite direction of Lady Sterling’s mechanisms, hoping to distract her enough.  “I believe you’ve made your point.” She said cooly.

“Oh, I have?”  Charlotte asked, attention snapping back to Rebecca.  Her gaze had been slowly sliding towards Dr. Jhandir until Rebecca spoke, but now her eyes and her aim were both trained back on the young noblewoman.  “And what point would that be, Ms. Tyler? Please, go on, I love it when people can prove they were actually listening to me.”

The moment Charlotte started speaking, Cordelia realized what Rebecca might be trying to do.  Stall Charlotte. Buy time. And Rebecca was doing it well. Cordelia had pushed Celine back to the side when Charlotte first activated the controls, but now she looked around and took full account of the situation.  

Tristan was fighting for his life.  Oscar seemed to be mainly directed at him, which made sense.   Charlotte already had a gun trained on Rebecca. Tristan was obviously armed and ready to fight, so it made sense to use Oscar as her weapon against him.  Anil was searching the room, probably for the control panel. But Charlotte seemed to be paying him no mind at all. Cordelia wondered whether Charlotte was distracted, or Anil was just very, very far off from the right location.  Maybe both?

“What now?” Celine whispered from next to her.

Cordelia thought a moment.  “Help Anil look,” Cordelia replied quietly, looking towards Doctor Jhandir.  “The full control panel is what we need most, and I’ve got a feeling that’s what he’s after.”

“Be careful,” Celine said before half-diving towards one side of the room.  Well, she did always have a bit of a flair for the dramatic.

Biting her bottom lip, Cordelia drew her own knife from her belt and charged over to Tristan and Oscar.  If Charlotte was falling for the distraction, so be it. Oscar and Tristan were closer to Charlotte than Cordelia was here.  Perhaps she could slip into the fight, give Tristan some support, and have a much clearer path to Charlotte when the opportunity presented itself.  And, if nothing else, Tristan would not be forced to fight his best friend alone.

“For starters, you’ve proved that the mind-controlling cyborg apparatus works.” Rebecca shrugged, wondering what exactly she was doing.  She was somewhat terrified, mostly because she was unsure if Charlotte would shoot her or not, and also because of Tristan and Oscar. It was unlikely that Tristan would injure or kill Oscar, Cordelia, who had just joined the fight was a wild card, but Oscar...had no control over his own actions.  He would probably kill everyone in this room without question, regardless of who deserved it. “Congratulations on that, I suppose we’re making some sort of progress scientifically.”

She continued her very slow walk to the opposite side of the room.  “But you seem to have predicted that already, just like you knew we would come.  It makes sense that the servants’ entrance was never truly unguarded, that would be, well, bad practice.” She offered a small smile, though was sure it came off more grim.  “So, I have to wonder, have you been planning this little showdown very long, or was it all by chance?”

Dr. Jhandir walked in the opposite direction from Rebecca, as quietly as he could on the polished hardwood floor.  He had no idea how long her little ploy would occupy Lady Sterling’s attention, but he had to use whatever time she gave him.  It was hard to turn his back on Lady Charlotte—to say nothing of Oscar—but he took a deep breath and did it, to get a better look at the machinery covering the wall.  

Even upon close inspection, it was hard for him to figure out what any of it was supposed to do.  This was really not his field. He’d read and re-read Kern’s notes for nearly a week, but even so, there was such a volume of moving parts, connected so intricately, that it was all overwhelming.  But he owed it to the others to figure it out, so he moved down the wall, studying it minutely and expecting at any moment the sting of a blade or bullet in his back.

The doctor jumped when Celine tapped him on the shoulder, and only narrowly stopped himself from crying out.

“Come take a look at this,” Celine whispered, widening her eyes and inclining her head toward another exposed portion of wall, which was unfortunately directly behind Rebecca.  She and Dr. Jhandir crept over, and she pointed to one of the delicately-carved organs on the wall—a heart. “Doesn’t this look just like the one that was in that dead woman in the lab?”

Celine was right.  This heart was perhaps twice as big as the mechanical girl’s, but the detailed etching of it was just the same.  Dr. Jhandir frowned. That was certainly a clue, but what could it—

He felt as though some mechanism in his own head had suddenly clicked into operation.  Components surrounding the heart looked… well, not familiar, exactly, but he could recognize them as things Kern had described.  Dr. Jhandir pressed his hand to the heart, expecting a shock like he’d gotten from the mechanical girl, but it depressed like a button, and the latticework of pipes and gears surrounding it shifted somehow, revealing a number of other buttons, levers, and gauges.

Dr. Jhandir closed his eyes and tried to form a mental picture of the control scheme Kern had described.  The task facing him was a delicate one—a wrong move could seriously damage Oscar, which, while certainly a possibility, was not his first choice.  Nor did he want to just switch the apparatus off, though he was fairly sure he knew how to accomplish that. That might leave Oscar under Lady Sterling’s control, or shut him off entirely, in which case Lady Sterling was liable to start shooting, probably starting with Dr. Jhandir.

“What do—” Celine started to whisper, but the doctor waved a hand at her and she lapsed into silence.  

Charlotte laughed airily, keeping her gun trained on Rebecca.  “Flattery? Oh, aren’t you a well-trained young lady. I’ve been assuming someone would come for me since Oswald was killed, though I admit I was expecting it to happen days ago.  Hmm…” she clicked her tongue as though scolding a naughty child and shook her head in mock consternation. “I might have thought that you’d use all that extra time to prepare, but then you went and brought your friend Oscar along.  You practically gift-wrapped yourselves for me!

“And once Oscar has finished off the rest of your mob, I don’t suppose I’ll have any reason to keep him around,” Charlotte continued with a sharp, nasty smile.  “Once you’re all dead, what use is he to me? You’ll be interested to know that my control over him is so complete that he won’t even fight back when I disassemble him.”

Charlotte was buying far into the distraction, Cordelia realized as swung her arm out of the way of Oscar’s knife, managing to the weapon with the blade in her other hand at the last second.  She glanced over at Tristan as she was forced a step back. Obviously, though, he was a little busy not dying, and he didn’t look back.

Cordelia had speed and agility on her side, but Oscar had size, raw strength, and military training to outmatch her.  Not to mention the fact that he was dead and therefore not likely to tire out the way any living person would. Tristan’s strengths as a fighter were some of her weaknesses, which was probably why Oscar hadn’t managed to kill either of them yet.  That, and the fact he had no gun. Why Charlotte didn’t just stop taunting Rebecca for a moment and throw Oscar a better weapon was beyond Cordelia. But Cordelia certainly wasn’t going to question or complain about Charlotte’s few strategic flaws.  If anything, thank goodness Charlotte was still so extremely excited about getting chances to monologue about herself.

This fight could not continue indefinitely, though.  The longer it went on, the greater Charlotte’s advantage in controlling Oscar became.  Eventually, Cordelia stopped trying to make some kind of subtle gesture and outright whispered to Tristan at the first possible moment, “Charlotte’s mine.”

With that, Cordelia slid under Oscar’s arm as it came towards her.  Sometimes it helped to be significantly shorter than one’s opponent.  

After two seconds, it became clear that Oscar’s (Charlotte’s?) attention was still primarily on Tristan.  Cordelia wasn’t sure what kind of control was being used to determine who Oscar would prioritize fighting, but clearly she was not on the first tier of targets.  If anything, it seemed like only Tristan qualified as such. Perhaps Oscar was just on some sort of automatic piloting mode, with Charlotte being unable to control his precise actions from where she was?

It only took Cordelia a few moments to position herself directly behind Charlotte, albeit several steps back from her.  Looking at Rebecca, Cordelia raised a free finger to her lips as Charlotte kept speaking. Then she sheathed the knife that was in her other hand, a quick way to let Rebecca know she didn’t intend to kill.  Though she quietly drew the knife again immediately after that—having something to threaten Charlotte with would decrease everyone’s chances of getting shot if and when Cordelia did reach her.

Rebecca managed to keep a straight face, not wanting to do anything that could distract Lady Sterling from herself.  She could see Cordelia behind her, but did not make eye contact in order to not tip Lady Sterling off about the other attack.  She managed to put on a smile, despite the horrible things that came out of Lady Sterling’s mouth, thanking whatever tutor had taught her some bit of diplomacy.  It was, oddly, like dealing with Octavia - all she had to do was keep her talking about herself and her plans.

“I’m surprised you want all of us dead, but it must be hard to designate which of us to kill and not kill in this state.” Rebecca mused, deciding to take a step forward in an effort to prevent Lady Sterling from seeing whatever the doctor and Celine were doing behind her.  “There is one thing I’m curious about—how did you know I’d come after Oscar? After all, up until a few years ago I was just some ‘well-trained young lady’.” Rebecca didn’t care about the answer, but needed Lady Sterling to talk more and monologue.

“‘Want’ is such a strong word,” Charlotte said, eyes still fixed on Rebecca.  “For instance, I certainly wouldn’t waste time or energy hunting _you_ down anywhere else.”  Charlotte truly meant that and, despite her intonation, perhaps not even entirely maliciously.  “But this is my home and my work. If you’re threatening that, I make no distinction.” She paused.  “And ‘know’ is a strong word, too. You see, Ms. Tyler, wherever there is pain or loss, there’s a good chance the people affected will either break or move on.  Yet I try not to assume that’s what will happen. Because there’s always some small chance that they’ll turn out like you.”

Charlotte smiled faintly, shifting the aim of her gun from the general region of Rebecca’s heart to the center of Rebecca’s face.  “Besides, I was a well-trained young lady, once,” she said. “And I fancy, in your shoes, I’d have done the same.”

The moment she saw Charlotte’s gun arm move, Cordelia realized that a moment more of waiting could cost Rebecca her life.  Clenching her free fist, Cordelia launched herself into a quick, silent lunge towards Charlotte.

Dr. Jhandir opened his eyes, took a deep breath, and set to work.  The combination of commands for what he intended was complex, presumably so that a rube who somehow found himself at the controls wouldn’t be able to actually do anything devastating with them.  The doctor, though, was no rube, and he executed the sequence quickly and flawlessly, pulling down the final lever with no small amount of satisfaction.

Oscar, faced now with a single target, brought his knife up to stab Tristan when the new aetheric signal reached his brain.  He turned in one swift, fluid motion and instead buried his knife in Charlotte’s stomach before Cordelia’s blow landed, cutting upwards until he hit the noblewoman’s sternum.  He pulled the knife out, still blank-faced, and let it clatter to the ground. Charlotte fell to her knees, letting her own weapon fall too as she grasped her abdomen.

It was all Cordelia could do to divert her course to the side as Oscar turned abruptly to her and Charlotte.  Rebecca and Oscar both blocked her view of Anil at the controls. For a split second, she was sure Charlotte had noticed her somehow, that it was her Oscar was aiming for.  But then Charlotte’s gun dropped, and in a second Cordelia’s old classmate was down on her knees. Tightening her grip on her own weapon, Cordelia sheathed her knife but didn’t let go of the handle.

On the other side of the room, satisfied that the deed was done, Dr. Jhandir turned back to the control apparatus and began to power it down.

“That’s it,” Celine said quietly, turning to Dr. Jhandir.  She laughed, a little nervously. “That’s it.”

Slowly, Charlotte raised her eyes from the wound, only to see Oscar standing over her.  She forced a smile back onto her lips. “This is always how this sort of story ends, isn’t it?” she choked out.  “To think I could… change that…” She cringed and clenched her jaw but refused to let the smile slip. Her eyes wandered from Oscar’s face, as if searching for any other visual in the room that she could lock onto.

At last, her gaze settled on Rebecca.  “Smart girl,” she muttered. With that, Charlotte slumped forward and was still.

Rebecca felt as if her brain had stopped working.  A moment before, she had been expecting death, figuring that Lady Sterling would pull the trigger any second.  She had seen Cordelia start to attack, but wasn’t sure if the bullet would hit her first. But then, out of nowhere, Oscar had turned on Lady Sterling in an unnecessary, gruesome way.  Rebecca saw the damage, knew that there was likely no way to save her, but no one here would want to.

She felt Tristan grab her shoulders, asking her if she was okay but she didn’t react, only nodding slightly.  Oscar had done the one thing that he feared—killed someone in a mindless rage—and she didn’t stop it. But then, a new thought dawned on her—things didn’t have to happen this way.  The controls, instead of being turned off, had been reversed somehow, and Rebecca knew exactly who to blame.

“You didn’t have to make him kill her.” Rebecca said darkly, turning to face Dr. Jhandir, face full of controlled anger.

“I used the tools at my disposal to end it with as little danger to you and the others as possible,” Dr. Jhandir said calmly.  In truth, he was pleased at how well everything had turned out.

“You shouldn’t have ended it like that.  Despite the fact that Lady Sterling has children that don’t deserve to be orphaned, she could have had information about the projects.” Rebecca narrowed her eyes.  “No one gave you the right to play God, Dr. Jhandir; you should have shut down the machine as soon as you could.”

“And if I had shut it down and Oscar had remained under her control?” the doctor asked, annoyed.  This conversation was already proving tiresome. “Oscar would have killed Curtis, and Lady Sterling would still be dead.  Or you would be—she was going to _shoot_ you, Miss Tyler.”

“And that’s why _I_ was handling Charlotte,” Cordelia spoke up, eyes still lingering on the dead woman.  She finally released the handle of her sheathed knife as she turned her gaze to Dr. Jhandir.  “If you were so terribly worried for Tristan and Rebecca, and so thoroughly convinced I couldn’t do a thing to help, why not just have Oscar charge Charlotte and knock her weapon from her hand, hm?  You didn’t do this for them. And you didn’t do it because it was the only choice. I’m not saying you did the wrong thing, but I am asking you to stop the bullshit excuses.”

Funny—it wasn’t until she’d said “bullshit” with no word of objection from her old roommate that she fully registered that Charlotte was dead.  

“It wasn’t the only choice,” Dr. Jhandir admitted.  “It was simply the _best_ choice, given the circumstances.  I needed to know that I could work the apparatus before I risked shutting it down.  And because I made that choice, both of you are still here to tell me I did wrong. We can argue as much as you please about what might have happened, but the simple, incontrovertible fact is that I made a choice, and we all lived.”

Oscar, who had been staring blankly at the floor, moved to rub his head with his hand, realizing very quickly that his hand was covered in blood.  He looked down, seeing the body of Lady Sterling, and he very quickly figured out what had happened. “Oh, god…” He breathed, looking up at the others around him with a terrified look on his face.

Rebecca ignored the doctor’s comment, instead focusing on Oscar.  She didn’t know what to say, or how to say it—so all she said was, “I’m so sorry.” She felt horrible about everything that had happened, and desperately wanted to explain it to Oscar in the nicest way possible, which was seemingly impossible.

Tristan narrowed his eyes at Dr. Jhandir. “Please, talk about choices, when you gave Oscar none.” He spat.

Dr. Jhandir stood fast in the face of Tristan’s vitriol.  “If I thought I could safely have done differently, I would have.  But I saw an opening and took it, using the tools at my disposal. Oscar should understand that I killed Lady Sterling, not him, any more than he would have been the one to kill you, had I not taken control from Lady Sterling.”

“Oscar is standing right in front of you,” Cordelia said.  “Tell him that directly. You are calling a human being _a tool at your disposal_.”  She laughed bitterly.  “Sadly, I’m not entirely surprised by that.”

“It’s not as if Oscar was hurt,” Celine interjected.  “No one died except for the person trying to kill us. That’s good _._ Maybe it’s not ideal, alright, but it is _good_.”

Cordelia glared over at her sister and opened her mouth as if to speak, but she said nothing.  She wouldn’t snap at Celine in anger. Not right now, when they were all excited and tense and some degree of shocked, not to mention congregated around a freshly dead body.

Instead, she turned to Oscar.  “This wasn’t you Oscar,” she said.  Cordelia was not one to struggle with words, but right now, it was hard to articulate one-eighth of what she felt needed to be said.  “There’s more to it than that, more that needs to be discussed anywhere that’s not here. But this wasn’t you.”

Oscar swallowed, glancing at the people around him.  He wouldn’t make eye contact, backing away towards the door. “I can’t do this right now.” He said quietly, wanting nothing more than to leave.

“Oscar, wait-” Rebecca took a step towards him, only for Oscar to go closer to the door.

“Please, Rebecca.” Oscar held up his hands, as if to push Rebecca away. “The doctor made it very clear that I am in no control of my own actions, I...I don’t want to hurt anyone that I care about.  I’m sorry, but it’s best that all of you stay away from me.”

Rebecca felt her eyes tear up. “It’s not your fault.” She said quietly, but didn’t protest as Oscar walked out the door, slamming it behind him.  Tristan reached out and took Rebecca’s hand to try and comfort her, but she barely took notice. She was feeling too many emotions: anger, grief, confusion, and she wanted to both cry and scream.

“Your excuses mean nothing to me, Jhandir.” She said softly, coldly, not even making eye contact. “You feel no remorse for what you’ve done, and I cannot forgive you for this.  I…” She trailed off, trying to find the right words and changing her original thought. “If you find him, stay away from Oscar. He doesn’t need any more help from you.”

“Thank you, Celine,” Dr. Jhandir said, pointedly ignoring everyone else in the room. “I’m glad you were able to look at things objectively. We should tell—Mrs. Massey, I suppose—that Lady Sterling is dead, but first…”

He walked back over to the depowered control panel and shrugged off the pack for his galvanic prod. Standing as far back as he could manage, he applied the prod to the control panel. It let off a cascade of sparks, and the prod’s pack started smoking a little, but the machinery in the walls all stopped whirring, and the hum of the unseen generator ceased.

Still directing his comments primarily toward Celine, the doctor said, “I doubt anyone could have restarted it, with Lady Sterling dead”—he himself could have, of course, but it didn’t seem wise to mention as much—“but a little extra surety can’t hurt.”

Rebecca didn’t want to thank the doctor, so she didn’t.  She wondered whether the doctor would have assumed this made everything even, but didn’t have the heart to tell him. “Let’s just go.” She said softly to Tristan. “This place…”

“It’s creepy, I know.” Tristan responded, glancing around again. “If it’s all good with you all, we’ll be leaving. Rather not say or do something we’ll regret. I think the mission is complete.” He said, coming off somewhat bitter, though it was mostly unintentional.  They both left without a word, walking out of the house as quickly as possible.

Cordelia let them go without so much as a word but swallowed hard.  “Unless the two of you have some scientific curiosity to satisfy here before we go,” she said coolly, addressing Anil and (more than she wished she was) Celine, “I’d suggest that this isn’t an ideal place to linger.”

Dr. Jhandir nodded. There was, he was sure, plenty of scientific interest left in this room, even with the control apparatus fried, but who knew what kind of security measures Lady Sterling had set up in the event of her death.

“Come along, Celine,” he said.

If Cordelia wanted to risk those security measures, that was her business, but Celine—although in possession of many fine qualities—was, in the doctor’s opinion, the type of person who’d stick her head in a guillotine to see how it worked. The girl looked a little disappointed but trotted after him as he left, leaving the remains of his galvanic prod where they lay. Dr. Jhandir paused in the laboratory’s doorway and turned back to Cordelia.

“We’ll see you back at Lambda-Nu,” he added. It was not a question, and he hoped Cordelia understood that it meant _be careful_. Then he and Celine disappeared into the hallway.

Rebecca released a sigh she didn’t know she was holding as soon as she left Lady Sterling’s house.  There was so much to process, and she had no idea where to start.

“What are you thinking about?” Tristan asked, looking over at Rebecca.

“Everything.” Rebecca looked around. “We can’t stay here, and I don’t want to go back to that base.”

“Neither do I after...everything.” Tristan sighed. “Let’s...let’s go home.”


End file.
